Chapter VII: Part V: The Magic Hairs (2)

The woman, delighting in evil, removed the other eye, and, afterward, gave all the water desired by the sufferer. It was swallowed eagerly; but, alas! although her thirst was assuaged, she had been made blind!

Now, all this happened while the slaves and the guard were in another part of the ship, and only the wicked nurse and her daughter were near to her who was to become bride to the young prince.

As the ship neared land, the nurse removed the bridal clothing from her charge and put it upon her own daughter, whose face she covered with a veil. The clothes of her own girl were then put upon the maiden and her face was covered, as before.

Upon landing, the nurse said to the others: “Do you remain here for a little, while I conduct my daughter to the house of a relative, where she will stay until my return.”

She then led the maiden without the city and left her alone, upon a mountain. After that, she wrote a letter to the parents of the maiden and gave it to the master of the port, with the command that he should find, upon the next incoming ship, the persons to whom it was addressed and deliver it to them. The letter read as follows:

“Do not continue your journey. Your daughter died upon the way to this port. She was buried in the deep sea. As for me, my grief is so great that I shall never return.”

Having done this, she hastened to rejoin those whom she had left; and the little company proceeded upon its journey to the palace. The nurse’s daughter guarded the secret well, so that no one dreamed of the sad thing that had happened. With all speed they pressed upon their way, and were soon met by the people of the palace, who conducted the woman and her daughter into the presence of the queen.

Now, the lady queen, after greeting the girl—who was brought to her in most splendid attire—regarded her attentively and said to herself: “This is not the one who so charmed me in the quiet garden. There is something wrong. Let us see unto what the end will bring us.”

With this seeming discovery she sat down to meditate; while the girl, who desired to become a princess, was led to her own room, and everyone about the palace made haste with preparations for the wedding.

That evening they married the nurse’s daughter to the prince. And all of the guests drank a royal drink from cups that were brilliant with gems. Afterward, the prince said to her who had become his bride, “I wonder greatly that, with all these festivities, not once have you smiled.”

Then, although she smiled at his word—which was a command, coming as it did from a prince—there occurred nothing at all unusual. Neither roses nor the fragrance of roses filled the air about her cheeks.

At this the prince, beginning to doubt, said to himself, “Most wonderful things have been told me concerning the maiden who was to become my princess; not one of which has manifested itself since the coming of this person.” After reflecting thus, he determined to speak of that which disturbed his mind.

“My princess,” he said, very gently, “it was related to me that when you laughed, roses formed near your cheeks. But nothing of that kind came to pass with your laughter just now. What is the meaning of this?”

“My lord,” was the careful answer, “that which has been told you is true; but it only happens once during each year.”

Thus were the questionings of the prince quieted for a little.

When it was morning and the princess was led to the bath, the queen mother came to accompany her. While one of the slaves washed the face of the girl, the mother approached with a cup of water. “Permit me, my child,” said she, and straightway poured the contents of the cup upon the girl’s head. Not a gold piece made its appearance.

At this, although she uttered not a word, the queen’s suspicions were strengthened. However, taking the girl’s hand, she led her from the bath and together they hastened to the palace, where the one who had been made princess sat down quietly, by herself.

Let these people stay here while we return to the helpless one, who had been deserted upon the mountain.

Her poor blind eyes could not cease their weeping until, as the result of her tears, a wall of pearls, as high as a man, piled itself before her. A muleteer, who was coming from the other side of the mountain, followed his path until it led him near to the suffering one. He was lost in astonishment and pity at what he saw. When he could recover himself, he approached the maiden and said: “Ai, my girl, what fate has brought you to this plight?”

“Ai, baba” (which, being interpreted, means “father”), “do not ask me! Providence has ordained it. I must be patient.”

Thereupon the muleteer, by her direction, gathered up the pearls and put them into the donkey’s panniers; after which he took the blind girl by the hand and led her to his own home. “Wife,” said he, “take good care of this poor maiden, whom I found in great distress. Let no more harm come to her!”

The wife noted the extraordinary beauty of the stranger and was deeply touched at her suffering. She led her into an inner chamber and cared for her as if she had been their own child. After a time, when these people gently questioned her, the poor girl related her story from beginning to end.

“Alas! what a pity!” they both exclaimed.

And their sympathy was so sweet to her that, lifting her face toward them, a sweet smile passed over it. At this, roses bloomed near her cheeks.

The muleteer and his wife were speechless with astonishment. But she, taking the roses in her hands, held them toward the old man. “Kind baba, if you would try to help me out of this sorrow, take these roses, lay them in a basket, and, calling aloud that you are selling roses out of season, go past the palace of him who should be my husband. Should you be asked how great is your price for them, you must say that you do not sell for money, but that you will give each handful of roses, only, in exchange for an eye.”

“So be it, my poor child,” answered the kind old man. “With the morning I shall do as you request.”

Accordingly, upon the morrow, the muleteer, with the roses in a basket upon his shoulder, set out upon his journey. As he neared the palace he began to cry: “Roses! roses out of season! I am selling roses that are out of season!”

The false one heard the cry and said to her mother: “There is a man with roses. Let us buy some that I may give them to the prince. I will tell him that they grew in my cheeks this morning. Perchance I shall find more favor in his sight.”

Those two—with the evil hearts—ran quickly to the door of the palace and summoned the muleteer as he was passing. When he heard the voices he turned. They motioned him to come. He approached, and let down the basket from his shoulder.

As the beautiful flowers caught the eyes of the girl she asked eagerly, “Well, gardener, for how much will you sell the roses?”

To which came the answer, as directed: “For money will I not part with them. Only for an eye will I exchange each handful.”

The mother and daughter looked at each other. “Do not fear,” said the mother, in a low voice, “he cannot know.”

“Very well, mother,” replied the daughter, in a whisper, “although you did not know it, I placed the eyes of the one whom we destroyed in her box. Do you detain him while I hasten to bring them. The prince must have roses to-day!”

So saying, she hastened and speedily brought the eyes, gave them to the supposed gardener, and received the exquisite roses in return.

The muleteer delivered the roses, and, without tarrying, hastened home, where, with his wife, he almost ran to the room of their adopted daughter. “Rejoice, thou wronged one!” cried they both. “Thy sight will be restored.”

The maiden was overjoyed at this. She arose and, taking pure water, performed ablutions; after which she prostrated herself twice, to obtain the favor of Allah. Then, raising her hands, she prayed.

Allah was gracious. The prayer was heard. The blind girl reached forth her hands and the muleteer let them touch the box in which were the precious things. She took first one, then the other, and replaced it. At that very instant, by the will of Allah, sight returned unto her and she looked out upon his earth. So kind was he that her eyes were better, even, than before. Thereupon, with joyful heart, she returned thanks unto him; after which she prayed.

Some time passed, and whenever the maiden laughed, roses bloomed about her cheeks; wherever she walked, soft grass sprang up joyfully; and whenever she bathed, great coins of gold ran down off her head. She grieved at the loss of her own mother, but patiently waited the will of Allah. Meanwhile, the kind-hearted muleteer seemed to her like a father, and she grew very fond of the old couple. As for those who were sheltering her, they became so rich, through the presence of this maiden, that they built a great house and filled it with servants, both men and women. And in this house, the most beautiful apartment of all was set apart for the young girl whose coming had so enriched them.

But, as the days went by, the maiden grew sad and made of the baba a strange request. “Father,” she said, “I would have you build me a tomb, made all of shim-shirak stone. Within there shall be a golden casket. And the doors of the tomb shall be wrought so marvelously that they shall speak. Once every hour they must open; and as they turn in each direction, they must say, again and again, ‘The beautiful one who did not have her desire!’”

Then was the muleteer sad of heart. “My daughter,” he answered, “let the tomb be as you desire. If Allah wills, it shall be builded with his blessing.”

Still heavy of heart, he arose and went to the top of the mountain, where, at great cost, he caused such a tomb to be made as had been described. It was all of shim-shirak stone, and within was a golden casket. Also the doors opened of themselves and repeated the words that had been commanded.

After having finished the tomb, the old man found it so perfect that he stayed for a long time to admire. Then he went home and said to his foster daughter: “Behold! I have made the tomb as you requested. I beg that you will be sad no longer.”

Let us leave these three persons here, while we return to the intruders in the palace.

As soon as the wicked daughter of the wicked woman had secured the roses from the supposed gardener, she arrayed herself in the most beautiful of the robes which had been stolen from the other, and, taking the roses in her hands, carried them to the prince.

Now, the roses were marvelously beautiful, and their fragrance was something passing sweet. When, therefore, the prince had received them, he laid them against his face, and it seemed as if he could never have enough of them. When she who had brought them saw this, it began to appear to her whence these flowers had come; and, as the prince was so enamored of their sweetness as to forget her very presence, anger and fear began to stir her breast. All the night through, she lay and pondered upon the roses, the strange price, and the rapture of the young prince.

When morning dawned she hastened to her mother with the startling announcement: “Mother, most surely the girl, whom we have supposed dead, is yet alive. She is not far away. At any moment she may overthrow our plans. Hasten! Let us send a witch to find her, and, after that, to remove the amulet from her arm. Then, surely, must she die.”

Throughout the night the mother had been troubled in like manner, and of herself had resolved that something must be brought about to prevent their undoing. Therefore she was quite ready to accept the advice of her daughter, and ordered a slave to conduct her to the tent of a witch, to whom she told a false story and ended with the order her daughter had suggested.

Now, the witch, as well, was evil-minded. She listened carefully and promised to accomplish the difficult task, for the great sum of money which was offered her. When the woman had gone from the tent, she made incantations. Afterward she set out, and did not pause until the very door of the muleteer’s house was reached. It opened at her knock, and she was led upstairs, into the room where the muleteer, his wife, and their foster daughter received their guests. Here she was graciously admitted and bidden to sit down.

After a little while it became evening, whereupon the witch said: “Ai! mother, I have journeyed a long way. It is now late. I am afraid to continue my journey at night. Indeed, the very reason of my call was to ask you if you would permit me to pass the night under your roof.”

The muleteer’s wife was not pleased with this. She had not been pleased with the presence of the witch. Still, it is incumbent upon the faithful to be hospitable. Accordingly, she answered: “Very well, mother. Here is a room. Enter it and lie down in peace! But first wait until the evening meal is prepared. We would have you partake of it with us.”

Very greatly was the witch pleased with this. She watched stealthily, to learn which was the maiden’s room, and, after that, went to her own and lay down. Soon, all the household were in their beds and asleep. When midnight came, the witch arose and stole to the maiden’s door, entered it, and went directly to the bed upon which the young creature lay in a sound, sweet sleep. Creeping closely to the bedside, she unclasped the gold band from the girl’s arm, then hastened to her own room, put on her cloak and sandals, and left the house.

From thence she hastened to the palace, and in the very early morning delivered up the stolen jewel to the mother of the false princess. It was received with great rejoicing by both of the evil plotters. They permitted themselves to be happy again, now that they felt assured of the death of her whom they had feared.

Let these remain quiet while we turn to the muleteer’s wife.

When morning came she arose and, with misgiving, went to the room which had been given to their weird visitor. It was as she feared. The room was empty. Then, hoping against fear, she looked to see if the woman’s cloak could be found. That, too, had disappeared. Thus was her fear confirmed and her perplexity increased. She then went to seek her foster daughter; but, finding her asleep, would not waken her, and returned to her own room.

The hours dragged by. It was near noon, and the maiden, an early riser, had not appeared. The foster mother began speaking to herself: “This child, whom Allah graciously sent to us, used always to arise very early. Now, to-day—when the person to whom we gave food and shelter has acted so as to perplex my soul—does this daughter delay her daily coming to me. I will go and awaken her.”

Accordingly, filled with vague alarm, she hastened to the door and called with tender voice, “O, my daughter, why do you sleep so long?”

No answer came to her words. Again she called, and again listened in vain. Not the slightest sound greeted her anxious ear. She entered the door, approached the bed, and leaned over the unconscious figure. But, leaning and listening, she found that not the faintest breath passed those quiet lips. In desperate haste she clasped the cold hands and began to chafe the delicate feet. Alas! they were like ice.

Then, indeed, did the heart of the muleteer’s wife become sore. She threw herself upon the floor, began beating her head against it, and, as she did so, she mourned: “Ai! my girl, my girl is dead! Henceforth shall the world be accursed unto me!”

Her husband heard the cry. He hastened to her and begged to know the cause of such grief. Whereupon she answered: “Ai, my lord, our girl, whom we love and whom we had taught to love us, is dead. Alone, in the night, did she die. I cannot contain myself for grief!”

When the muleteer heard this, and after he had assured himself of its truth, tears, like rain, began to flow from his eyes. Then the whole household came to join in mourning the death of the beautiful girl.

After a time, when they could restrain their grief, they prepared her body and laid it in the tomb which she, with sad prophecy, had caused to be builded. This done, these good people did not mend their grief, but continued to mourn the gracious presence which had been lent to them for a little while.

Let us leave them now, and return to the plotting mother in the prince’s palace.

When this evil-minded person learned, through inquiries which she cautiously set on foot, that the one whom she had wronged was dead, it became unto her as if all the world were her own. And, without seeming to realize that Allah knew of the evil which she had committed, she even dared attribute her fortune to him! “O, praise be to Allah!” she cried. “At last we are freed from fear!”

Later on, the prince heard—through some visitors at the court—such part of the dead maiden’s history as was known to the world: that about such a time she had been found in great distress by the muleteer, whose kind heart had prompted him to take her to his own home, where she had become as a daughter in the house. And that immediately upon her coming, the Fates had blessed the old man and his wife, until they had houses and lands, men and women servants. But after all this had come to them, and when life seemed complete, the blackest of grief had overshadowed them in the death of their adopted child.

This tale wrought deeply upon the mind of the prince. He sighed in his soul and became very sad. After that some strange fantasy possessed him. He could no longer endure the presence of the girl who had come to dwell in his palace.

One day, when his soul was more than usually sad, together with his companions, he went out to wander upon the mountains. After several days they came to the foot of one that was higher than the others in the range. It was evening. Wearied with this aimless pacing hither and thither, they sat down to rest. All at once a faint, faint voice reached the ear of the prince. And the words that it spoke were these: “The Beauty who did not have her desire! The Beauty who did not have her desire!”

Without a moment’s pause to consider whether it might not be a lure into danger, the prince, who was brave of heart, arose with his companions and hastened to the summit of the mountain. There he came upon a tomb of shim-shirak stone, so brilliant as to dazzle the eyes of a beholder. And its doors, opening of themselves, both inward and outward, were repeating softly the words that had arrested his attention.

All this aroused great wonder in the minds of the prince and his companions. They questioned concerning the building of so magnificent a burial place, and whether any body had been placed therein. After a time, as was quite natural, a sad curiosity prompted the prince, himself, to enter.

Only a golden casket, with closed lid, met his gaze. Presently he approached, and, as the lid was unfastened, raised it and discovered, within, a young woman who was like the full moon for beauty; and beside her a child which reflected her brightness. The child nestled against the arm of its mother.

At this sight the prince—who had been prepared for any marvelous unfolding—became even more tender of heart. His eyes filled with tears, and he gave thanks for, at least, the preservation of the infant.

He lifted the child very tenderly, wrapped it in the snowy silken covering, and, holding it closely in his arms, rejoined his companions, who awaited him without the tomb.

They all returned directly to the palace. As they entered, the prince summoned the queen, the girl who had come to him, her mother, and gave command that the child be recognized as one of the chief members in the royal household. To the girl he said:

“You are young and strong. It is my will that you devote yourself to the care of this babe. See that he does not cry, while I go outside and give orders concerning his ablutions.”

Now, the child, being strong and well grown, had freed itself from the detaining hands of the prince and slipped to the floor. After his going, it wandered, with uncertain, childish footsteps, about the room, playing with whatever object attracted its attention. In this way it went up to an open drawer in which lay the bracelet, which the witch had removed from the arm of its own mother. In a moment the bright object was in the tiny hands.

This sight caused a great shock to the girl who was tending him. She flew to recover the precious trinket; but the child would not let go of it. He tightened his hold and, opening his mouth, began to scream lustily.

The prince heard the cry. He came within and asked, angrily, why she was making the child cry. To which she made reply: “But, my lord, the babe has my bracelet. It is only because I would take it from him that he cries.”

“If it were twenty bracelets, let him play!” was the response.

But as is often the manner with children when in a strange place, this one, having once begun, would not cease his crying. Nothing would appease him. It seemed as if he would cry his little heart out. Thereupon the prince took him in his arms, called his companions, and, with all speed, hastened to the tomb of shim-shirak stone.

It was the end of the hour. And the doors, opening inward and outward of themselves, were uttering the same plaintive words which had greeted his ears at the first.

The prince quickened his pace, entered the tomb, raised the lid of the golden casket and laid the child where he had found it, beside the mother. As he did this, the bracelet, of which the little fingers had not once let go, touched the white arm of the woman. At the contact her mouth began to quiver, and, from the waist downward, she became alive. Her feet grew warm and stirred.

This marvelous occurrence was most unexpected. Everything was as it had been at the finding of the child save—ah! there was the bracelet! And, as he scanned the arm more closely, the prince was convinced that it had been accustomed to the wearing of a band, the exact width of that which the child, in its grief, had brought away from the palace.

Immediately upon noting this, the prince was filled with more wonder. He felt assured that the bracelet must be an amulet from which some life-giving power emanated. He therefore took it from the child’s hand—who, strange to relate, yielded it up willingly—and clasped it about the lifeless arm.

His thoughtfulness was rewarded. While he stood, breathless, a slight convulsion stirred the figure of the woman. She sneezed, and after that effort, made a slow movement and sat up in the casket.

The child clung to her with a new zeal, and she, gathering him tenderly to her bosom, turned with wide-open eyes to regard the tall young personage who stood beside her. That he was of royal birth was evidenced by his bearing. The evidence was continued in his costume. The mystery of life and death was upon her; therefore were her thoughts clear. At once she was impressed that this must be the prince of whom she had been the promised bride.

The prince, upon his part, already had been won. How much more strongly, then, was his heart drawn to her when he beheld her living, breathing, moving? He made courtly obeisance and thus addressed himself to her:

“My queen, is it permitted me to ask before whom I have the honor to stand? And whose is this child which already possesses my heart?”

To which the Beautiful One, looking first at him and then at the child, made answer:

“My prince, I left my mother at Stamboul, and, with slaves and guard, in charge of my former nurse and in company with her daughter, I was coming to be your bride. Upon the way, the nurse, who had been trustworthy until then, became jealous for the advancement of her own daughter. First, she took out my eyes; then she exchanged our clothing, and, finally, left me upon a mountain, alone, to die of grief and starvation.

“But Allah heard the falling of my tears. He caused a kind old muleteer to pass that way, who, when he espied me, was moved with compassion and led me to his house, where both he and his wife received me as if I had been their own child.

“Shortly afterward I caused some roses, that had bloomed at my cheeks, to be cried before your palace; with the command that they must not be sold for gold, but that only by the exchange of an eye, for each handful, could they be obtained. The evil ones saw the roses. They would secure them as a present to your Royal Highness. Eagerness weakened their wisdom to such extent that they accepted the condition, and thereby did I recover my eyes. As I put them in place, by Allah’s grace, they became seeing.

“Finally, the roses which I sent were given to you, who received them and experienced a strange influence. At that very time a golden-winged messenger appeared to me, bearing this child in his arms and saying: ‘He will be kept for you until you shall lie in your tomb. Do not fear! All will yet be well!’

“Then I caused this tomb to be builded, and, shortly after, a witch was sent by my undoers, who stole this life-keeping amulet from my arm. At that moment I died. They laid me in this tomb, where I have remained until, at your approach, the golden-winged messenger again approached and left the child beside me. I could stir neither hand nor foot. As to the child, O, prince! it is yours. It was created in Paradise, when you were holding the roses to your face.”

As this tale unfolded itself and the willing listener was convinced of its truth, he wept so bitterly at all her sufferings that the tears might have been of blood. Then, recovering himself, he clasped the narrator to his heart.

He then lifted her out of the casket, gave her his arm to lean upon, and, taking the child upon his other arm and surrounded by his attendants, conducted her to his palace.

After his queen mother had received them, and, summoning slaves, had made the mother and child comfortable in a most luxurious apartment, the prince commanded that the wicked nurse and her daughter should appear before him; when he ordered the chief headsman to strike them dead.

The man gave them each so heavy a blow that their bones rattled. Their souls were dispatched to Hades and their bodies were thrown out to the dogs. Then the prince rejoiced greatly, saying: “Praise be to Allah that, at last, he has freed me from those evil vixens! Now has my head become clear again.”

Afterward, he sent fleet messengers to bring the parents of her whom they had thought dead. And he also called the kind muleteer and his wife. In the presence of all these and of his court, was he married to the Beautiful One whose light footstep caused the grass to grow upon the driest earth; whose laughter filled his life with roses, and whose tears—even tears of joy at her newly found happiness—became pearls before his eyes.

The wedding festivities extended throughout the kingdom. They continued during forty days and forty nights. The prince and his beautiful wife, and the child which had been given to them, lived happily ever afterward. With the great sums of gold which rolled from the head of the true princess whenever she performed her ablutions, the prince was able to pay great debts which the late war had entailed upon his country. Thus were his people relieved of the heavy taxes. Salaam!

STORY OF THE CRYING POMEGRANATE AND THE LAUGHING BEAR

The narrator of tales relates that, once upon a time, there lived a king who had nine daughters. And because there was no son, he made a vow that he would condemn his wife to death if their next child were not a boy.

Time came and went until another child was born to the king. And, although this one, also, was a little girl, the queen, with the careful assistance of her faithful nurse, concealed the fact, and the child was supposed to be a boy. The king rejoiced greatly, giving thanks to Allah, because he believed that a son had come to him, who could inherit the kingdom.

But after a number of years had gone by, and the time came when the child was to be enrolled in the royal army corps, the queen knew that her deceit would be discovered. She shut herself up in her room and wept bitterly.

The child was greatly disturbed at her grief, and begged to come in and comfort her. “My mother,” it said, “why do you weep so? What is there that should trouble you?”

“Ai, my child!” the queen answered, “of all who weep there is no one who has sadder cause than I. And the cause of my sorrow is this: When you were a little baby it was told the king, your father—who greatly desired a son to inherit his throne—that you were a boy. He has believed it until this day. Now he will learn the truth, and I shall lose my life.”

But the child—being very wise as well as loving—comforted her mother with these words: “Do not fear, dearest mother! I will go to my father, the king, and ask him to delay this ceremony for another year.”

The next morning, therefore, the child, weeping bitterly, went into her father’s presence and kissed his hand.

“Why do you cry, my son?” asked the father. “Tears are for girls. They should not be seen upon the face of the king’s son.”

“O! my father! I am still little. Yet you are going to make me one in the royal army. Therefore do I weep.”

“Well, well, my son,” said the king, “dry your tears! We will postpone this matter until your next birthday.”

At these words the girl kissed her father’s hand gratefully and returned to her mother with rejoicing. The queen was glad, indeed. She took the child in her arms and kissed her eyes.

The year passed most swiftly, and, at its end, the mother was so racked with fear that, again, she began to cry. Upon this the child made bold to approach her father, who, for her sake, delayed the initiation for another year.

But when the third year came, the queen, knowing in her heart that there could be no hope, went to her room and gave herself up to such bitter tears that the child was not able to restrain her own. So they two wept together.

Then the mother said: “Ai, my daughter! Although your father, the king, has delayed this important ceremony for two years, I am certain that he will not defer it a third time. You are now large and well grown. There is no longer any respite for me. To-morrow I shall be put to death. This is the last day of my life.”

But the girl was determined to cheer her mother, at all cost. “Ai, honored mother!” she made answer. “If my father summons me I will beg for a half hour’s grace, when I will go to the stable, mount a swift horse, and fly away.”

“But what will become of you, my child?”

“Dearest mother, do not be anxious about me. I will go to foreign lands and dwell. It will be a small sacrifice to make for your happiness.”

The next morning tents were pitched in a great open square; and when it became known that the royal ceremony was to take place, an immense crowd of people collected.

The king called for the supposed prince, and said: “My son, you are now fourteen years old. The long-postponed initiation will take place to-day.”

“Indeed, my honored father, I am now ready. Will you grant that I may first ride, on horseback, about the square, to view the people and the grand preparations? After that you will do with me according to your will.”

“Very well, my son,” answered the king. “Go! Show their prince to my people!”

The supposed prince then flew to embrace her royal mother; after which she went to the stables and selected a most beautiful coal-black steed. As she stood by the horse’s head, tears flowed down her cheeks.

At this occurred something most strange. The beautiful horse, seeing the tears of the princess, began to speak: “Ai, my sultana! Why do you cry?”

Now, the princess was surprised that, while all about supposed her to be a prince, she should be addressed as sultana. However, she was too distressed to cavil at anything; so made answer:

“No one has greater cause for grief than I. Ever since my birth, my father has believed me to be a boy. Now, at the performance of this ceremony, he will be told what you already know. In that hour he will cause my mother to be put to death. I have half an hour, only, in which to escape. My father has given permission that I should ride about the square to view the people. At the end of that time, I have decided to make my escape.”

When the princess had confided this sorrow and perplexity to the horse, he spoke again: “Sultana,” he said, “there is no cause for grief. Mount my back and, with the favor of Allah, I will bear you to other lands. But, first, accept a bit of advice. When the time comes that we are to fly, hold to my neck with all your might. Also keep fast hold upon the reins; because my speed is so great that, if a bullet be shot off behind us, it could not overtake me. Bear this in mind and act accordingly!”

Thereupon the young girl mounted the beautiful coal-black steed and rode to the public square—from one end to the other of it—while all the soldiers stood watching one whom they believed to be their prince.

When the half hour had elapsed, the horse gave a spring, from the admiring soldiers, and was off like the wind.

When the people saw this they believed that the spirited creature had become frightened, and that the prince could not manage him. A crier was sent to the king, while the soldiers set out in pursuit.

But they found no trace of the horse, nor of his rider—not so much as the prints of hoofs in the road. Then they returned; for they felt that search was hopeless. The king and all his people went into mourning for the prince; and the soldiers were ordered back to their stations.

Now let us come to the princess.

In one day the strange horse brought his rider into a country whose distance was a six months’ journey from her own kingdom. Here he stopped and said to her:

“Sultana, this much of your rescue have I been able to accomplish for you. I can go no farther. Hereafter you must save yourself.”

At this the princess, realizing her lonely condition, dismounted, saying: “O, my beautiful deliverer! First, it was Allah who saved me, then he sent me to you, and now I am left to myself. I will go on; but if danger befall me, what am I to do?” As she spoke tears gathered in her eyes.

The horse answered: “Ai, sultana! take three hairs from the forelock which hangs over my eyes. Should trouble perplex you, rub them together and I will come to your aid.”

The princess took the hairs, gratefully, and put them in her bosom. Then, flinging her arms about the horse’s neck, she thanked him for all he had done to help her and bade him adieu.

As she withdrew her arms, he disappeared.

The princess traveled on and on, until she entered another country. It was evening. Before her stood a grand palace, at the side of which was a large kitchen. Hastily removing the marks of royalty from her clothing, she entered and asked of the cooks: “My masters, will you take me as an assistant?”

But they were in haste and answered her roughly: “Are you blind? Can’t you see that we are up to our elbows in work? What should we do with a lad like you?”

However, with all the persuasion at her command, she entreated to be allowed to try; and, finally, was accepted and set to running of errands, upstairs and down. After a little, she asked one of the men why they were cooking such enormous quantities of food and in such haste.

“Ai, my son,” was the reply, “do you not know that every six years a dragon comes to this country and feeds on the king’s liver? To-morrow night is the time of his next coming. It is thought possible that he may be tempted to eat of other food, if enough is spread in the banqueting hall. That is why we are in such great haste. Possibly we may save the life of our king.”

The princess was so amazed that she bit her finger, to learn whether, indeed, she were awake.

All that night she was not permitted to sleep, but worked as hard as she could, serving the cooks. When morning came she stole away, went into the other part of the palace, and climbed the stairs. There, in a room by herself, she saw a sultana who was dressed from head to foot in black. Without letting herself be seen, the young explorer went to another room, in which was seated another princess. This one, likewise, was dressed in black, and all the room was draped in mourning. Leaving this, she went to still another room, in which a sultana, who was arrayed from head to foot in scarlet, was seated upon a divan. The princess went on, noiselessly, until she came to the chamber of the king. The court physician had administered a powder to him, and the king lay unconscious.

During all this, more time had elapsed than the princess dreamed. It was now evening, and time for the coming of the dragon. She knew, by savory odors that the feast which she had helped to prepare, was spread in the banqueting hall. It seemed to her that a time had come when she should apply for aid. Her heart was trembling with hope and fear; but she took the hairs from her bosom, rubbed them together, when—O, joy, the beautiful horse stood before her once more.

“My princess, art thou in need of me?” he asked. “And what is it that thou requirest?”

“If it be in your power, my noble deliverer, give me a sword so sharp and strong that should I strike an enormous dragon with it, he must be severed in two.”

Without moving from the spot, the horse turned his head and the princess saw a sword among his caparisons. “Take it, my sultana!” he answered. “Use it well. And remember that you must not strike a second blow, in the same place.” With this warning he disappeared.

The princess grasped the sword. Going directly to the king’s chamber, she hid herself in a corner.

The palace was deserted. It seemed strange that the people should leave their beloved king to his fate; but this was in the agreement by which the whole country had been spared. In the middle of the night a great noise burst forth through all the sky. The moon and stars became obscured. Everything was black as pitch. Immediately afterward, with loud snorts, an immense dragon appeared in the middle of the room.

Scarcely had he appeared when the young princess seized the sword with both hands and crying, “Yellah!” struck him such a blow that his head was severed from the body.

Then a terrible sound came from the body of the dragon; and this sound was like a voice, which formed itself into these words: “O, valiant youth! Let me know, by striking again, whether you are, indeed, a boy.”

But the princess remembered the warning of the horse and remained standing perfectly still, until the soul of the dragon had left his body and gone to Hades, its rightful place. She then cut off one of his ears, put it in her pocket, and, hiding the sword in her clothing, returned to the kitchen and renewed her tasks, running up and down stairs according to the directions of the cooks.

When morning dawned the king recovered from the effects of the powder, which the court physician had given him, looked about him and exclaimed with great astonishment at finding himself still alive. He saw the pitch-black body of the dragon lying headless in the middle of his chamber. Even in that condition, one could hardly view it without losing his wits. He gave thanks unto Allah for his escape; after which his mind was lost in wonder as to who had killed his mortal enemy.

After a little he went out of the palace. The whole populace had gathered to express grief at the calamity which they supposed had come upon them; but when they saw their beloved king, safe and sound, they were beside themselves with joy and cried: “Praise be to Allah! Our Caliph lives!”

After they had shouted thus until they were exhausted, the king found voice to ask who it was that had killed the dragon. Upon this the people came forward, one by one, each claiming to have accomplished the brave feat “I killed it, my lord!” cried each one, in turn.

The king knew that this could not be true; but he was so glad to be alive, that he gave backsheesh to each, even to the cooks. Everybody received a present who went before the king.

The cooks, noticing that their assistant did not go, said to her: “Why do you stand here listless? See! all we have presents from the king. Go and receive one for yourself.”

“I am not of this kingdom. Your sovereign will not receive me,” was the reply.

“Why should he not receive you?” cried they all. “Surely he will give you, too, something.”

They continued to urge until the young princess went forward, as the others had done, and, when she had come near to His Majesty, said to him, “O, my padisha! it was I who killed your adversary, the dragon.”

But, according to her prediction, the king repulsed her, saying, “How is that you can claim to have done this thing, seeing that you are not of my people?”

“My padisha,” answered she, “let me prove the truth of what I say and the falsehood of that which all these others have said to you. Here is an ear, which I cut from the head of the monster as soon as he was dead. Let us go and look at the dragon. You will find that his right ear has been cut off.”

Accordingly they went, and, behold! it was as the girl had said.

Then the king turned to her and exclaimed, “My son! ask whatever you will and it shall be given you!”

“My padisha,” was her quiet response, “I ask that Allah may continue your life unto you.”

“Thou art most courteous, my son; but I desire that thou ask something for thyself.”

The same request was repeated. A third time the king made his royal offer; then the supposed youth made answer: “My padisha, I would like it if you would give to me the maiden in the scarlet robes, who sits upon a divan in an upper room in your palace.”

“But already I have offered to her many youths—brave as well as handsome—and she will have none of them. Why do you ask for her? She is a cruel coquette. In the other rooms, arrayed in black, are my two other daughters. I will give you one of them.”

But the princess answered: “O, king! my fancy prefers the one in scarlet raiment. If you will give any to me, let it be this one.”

So the king had no choice. And, since he realized that to the valor of the one who made the request did he owe his life, he sent a summons; and the girl who was dressed in scarlet came into his presence and stood before him, showing deep respect.

“Ai, my daughter!” said the king. “This youth desires to marry you. I command that you accept him.”

“My honored father,” was the reply. “I pray you give me a little time. Let me dream over the matter, and, to-morrow, you shall hear the result.”

This slight request was granted, and the king’s daughter returned to her own apartment. When night came on and all was still in the palace, the one who had killed the dragon, stole quietly to her door and watched through the keyhole, to see what she would do.

The girl, who was arrayed in scarlet, set a golden basin, filled with various kinds of perfumed waters, in the middle of the floor. Almost immediately, a dove flew in through the open window, bathed in the water and turned into a beautiful youth, whom the girl embraced tenderly; after which the two sat down beside each other.

“Ai, my lord, light of my eyes!” said she. “To-day my father summoned me into his presence and declared that he would bestow me, in marriage, upon a youth of mean condition. I persuaded him to give me this night of grace in which to think upon the matter. In reality, I wished to consult with you.”

“My princess,” answered the youth, after he had thought for some minutes, “your father should not expect to marry you to one who is not willing to do some valiant deed to win your hand. There is a magic mirror, which the jinns have in charge. No one is capable of securing it from them. It has often been tried. Now, to-morrow, you must say that you will marry this presumptuous one, if he will bring you the magic mirror.”

When morning returned, the youth again took on the form of a dove and disappeared through the window. After that, the one who had been watching them went away. She saw, very clearly, that the princess who wore the scarlet raiment was under an evil enchantment. And her love for the deluded one was increased by her pity.

The king’s daughter, arrayed all in scarlet, went to her father with the condition. “Verily, my king!” she said, “in a certain place, where the jinns have charge of it, is a magic mirror—into which whoever looks will thenceforth be happy. I would possess this mirror. If the youth who seeks my hand will bring it to me, then will I marry him.”

Upon this the king summoned the assistant of the cooks and said to her: “My son, it is as I told you. This foolish daughter is amusing herself. Now, before she will marry you, she demands that you bring to her a mirror, the securing of which will entail great danger.”

The reply came without hesitation: “My padisha, let it please you that I go and bring the mirror unto your daughter.”

The king, assured that this would end the matter, gave most willing consent. “Let it be so, then!” he replied. “Go and bring it.”

Having obtained royal permission to leave the palace, the supposed youth went beyond the sight of any, took the magic hairs from her bosom and rubbed them together. Immediately the horse appeared and was greeted most gladly.

“O, you beautiful creature! In a certain place, protected by the jinns, there is a mirror of which I am in need. You, who are so powerful, bring it to me, I pray!”

“Verily, I would gladly do as you desire, O, my princess! But it is not permitted me to touch the mirror. I will help you to obtain it for yourself. But you have much to do. Let me ask that you mount my back.”

This done, they were off like the wind.

After going for some time, they came to a high mountain. Here the horse stopped quite still, saying: “My princess, I have brought you as far as is permitted me. Dismount and go to the mountain opposite, where you will come upon the haunt of the jinns. Observe them carefully. If their eyes are shut, be assured that they are awake; but, should their eyes be open, you may believe them asleep. Enter softly. You will see the mirror hanging above their heads. Secure it, and return to me with all speed, without once looking behind.”

“Very well,” was the answer, “I will do my best.”

Then she climbed to the top of the mountain indicated, and easily found the place where lived the jinns. Approaching noiselessly, she saw the mirror hanging above their heads and noted, carefully, that their eyes were open. Knowing this to be assurance that they were asleep—although it required great faith in the word of the horse—she went in boldly, took the mirror, turned about, and, as soon as she was beyond hearing, ran toward the horse without once looking behind.

She was no sooner out of the place than the jinns wakened, discovered their loss, and looked about until they espied the flying figure of the girl.

“Youth!” they shouted, “bring back our mirror!” And as they said the words, they rolled down stones that were like a broken mountain for size.

But the princess, without casting the slightest glance backward, ran until she reached the side of the horse. As soon as she was upon his back, he gave a great bound and was off like the wind, leaving the jinns behind, gnashing their teeth in useless rage.

After a time they two reached the palace, where the princess dismounted, and the instant her feet touched the ground, the beautiful coal-black steed vanished. She then entered the palace and went directly into the presence of the king.

His Majesty was surprised at seeing her, and supposed that she had come to say that the foolhardy undertaking had been abandoned. But, instead, after receiving obeisance, these were the words he heard:

“Behold, O, king! I have brought the mirror which you asked of me.”

The king’s amazement was great. He summoned his daughter—who came in, wearing the same brilliant garments—and said to her: “Look! This youth has brought the mirror which you requested!”

For the moment the girl was too amazed to speak. However, quickly recovering herself, she received the mirror, and made still another request for delay, while turning it about in her hands:

“O, my kingly father! I beg you to grant another night’s dreaming; during which I may think upon this strange feat. To-morrow shall my answer be ready.”

“Let it be as you desire,” replied her father. “Take another night in which to think upon the matter.”

Then the king’s daughter withdrew. The seeming youth, also, made obeisance and went out from the king’s audience chamber to hide away from the cooks until evening, when, as before, she stole to the door of the one to whom had been delivered the mirror, and renewed her watch of the night previous.

After the golden basin had been placed in the middle of the floor, the same snow-white dove flew in at the window, alighted in the perfumed waters, bathed, and came forth a youth—handsome, brave, and strong as a lion. He embraced the king’s daughter, who said to him: