Part 4

After a while his master and his wife agreed together that they would go and sleep at night on the shores of a lake. They took Mehmed with them, and put his bed right on the water’s edge, that he might tumble in when he went to sleep. However, the fool was not such a fool but that he made his master’s wife jump into the lake instead of himself. “Art angry, master?” cried he.--“Angry indeed! How can I help being angry when I see my property wasted, and my wife and child killed, and myself a beggar--and all through thee!” Then the fool seized his master, put him in mind of their compact, and pitched him into the water.

Mehmed now found himself all alone, so he went forth into the wide world once more. He went on and on, did nothing but drink sweet coffee, smoke chibooks, look about over his shoulder, and walk leisurely along at his ease. As he was thus knocking about, he chanced to light upon a five-para piece, which he speedily changed for some lebleb,[7] which he immediately fell to chewing, and, as he chewed, part of it fell into a wayside spring, whereupon the fool began roaring loud enough to split his throat: “Give me back my lebleb, give me back my lebleb!” At this frightful bawling a Jinn popped up his head, and he was so big that his upper lip swept the sky, while his lower lip hid the earth. “What dost thou require?” asked the Jinn.--“I want my lebleb, I want my lebleb!” cried Mehmed.

The Jinn ducked down into the spring, and when he came up again, he held a little table in his hand. This little table he gave to the fool and said: “Whenever thou art hungry thou hast only to say: ‘Little table, give me to eat;’ and when thou hast eaten thy fill, say: ‘Little table, I have now had enough.’”

So Mehmed took the table and went with it into a village, and when he felt hungry he said: “Little table, give me to eat!” and immediately there stood before him so many beautiful, nice dishes that he couldn’t make up his mind which to begin with. “Well,” thought he, “I must let the poor people of the village see this wonder also,” so he went and invited them all to a great banquet.

The villagers came one after another, they looked to the right, they looked to the left, but there was no sign of a fire, or any preparations for a meal. “Nay, but he would needs make fools of us!” thought they. But the young man brought out his table, set it in the midst, and cried: “Little table, give me to eat!” and there before them stood all manner of delicious meats and drinks, and so much thereof that when the guests had stuffed themselves to the very throat, there was enough left over to fill the servants. Then the villagers laid their heads together as to how they might manage to have a meal like this every day. “Come now!” said some of them, “let us steal a march upon Mehmed one day and lay hands upon his table, and then there will be an end to the fool’s glory.” And they did so.

What could the poor, empty-bellied fool do then? Why he went to the wayside spring and asked again: “I want my lebleb, I want my lebleb!” And he asked and asked so long that at last the Jinn popped up his head again out of the spring and inquired what was the matter. “I want my lebleb, I want my lebleb!” cried the fool.--“But where’s thy little table?”--“They stole it.”

The big-lipped Jinn again popped down, and when he rose out of the spring again he had a little mill in his hand. This he gave to the fool and said to him: “Grind it to the right and gold will flow out of it, grind it to the left and it will give thee silver.” So the youth took the mill home and ground it first to the right and then to the left, and huge treasures of gold and silver lay heaped about him on the floor. So he grew such a rich man that his equal was not to be found in the village, nay, nor in the town either.

But no sooner had the people of the village got to know all about the little mill than they laid their heads together and schemed and schemed till the mill also disappeared[8] one fine morning from Mehmed’s cottage. Then Mehmed ran off to the spring once more and cried: “I want my lebleb, I want my lebleb!”

“But where is thy little table? Where is thy little mill?” asked the big-lipped Jinn.

“They have stolen them both from me,” lamented the witless one, and he wept bitterly.

Again the Jinn bobbed down, and this time he brought up two sticks with him. He gave them to the fool, and impressed upon him very strongly on no account to say: “Strike, strike, my little sticks!”

Mehmed took the sticks, and first he turned them to the right and then to the left, but could make nothing of them. Then he thought he would just try the effect of saying: “Strike, strike, my little sticks!” and no sooner were the words out of his mouth than the sticks fell upon him unmercifully, and belaboured him on every part of the body that can feel--the head, the foot, the arm, the back--till he was nothing but one big ache. “Stop, stop, my little sticks!” cried he, and lo! the two sticks were still. Then, for all his aches and pains, Mehmed rejoiced greatly that he had found out the mystery.

He had no sooner got home with the two sticks than he called together all the villagers, but said not a word about what he meant to do. In less than a couple of hours everybody had assembled there, and awaited the new show with great curiosity. Then Mehmed came with his two sticks and cried: “Strike, strike, my little sticks, strike, strike!” whereupon the two sticks gave the whole lot of them such a rub-a-dub-dubbing that it was as much as they could do to howl for mercy. “Now,” said Mehmed, who was getting his wits back again, “I’ll have no mercy till you have given back to me my little table and my little mill.”

The people of the village, all bruised and bleeding as they were, consented to everything, and hurried off for the little table and the little mill. Then Mehmed cried: “Stand still, my little sticks!” and there was peace and quiet as before.

Then the man took away the three gifts to his own village, and as he now had money he grew more sensible, and there also he found his brother. He gave all the buried treasure to his brother, and each of them sought out a damsel meet to be a wife, and married, and lived each in a world of his own. And there was not a wiser man in that village than Mad Mehmed now that he had grown rich.

THE GOLDEN-HAIRED CHILDREN

Once upon a time, in days long gone by, when my father was my father, and I was my fathers son, when my father was my son, and I was my father’s mother, once upon a time, I say, at the uttermost ends of the world, hard by the realm of demons, stood a great city.

In this same city there dwelt three poor damsels, the daughters of a poor wood-cutter. From morn to eve, from evening to morning, they did nothing but sew and stitch, and when the embroideries were finished, one of them would go to the market-place and sell them, and so purchase wherewithal to live upon.

Now it fell out, one day, that the Padishah of that city was wroth with the people, and in his rage he commanded that for three days and three nights nobody should light a candle in that city. What were these three poor sisters to do? They could not work in the dark. So they covered their window with a large thick curtain, lit a tiny rushlight, and sat them down to earn their daily bread.

On the third night of the prohibition, the Padishah took it into his head to go round the city himself to see whether every one was keeping his commandment. He chanced to step in front of the house of the three poor damsels, and as the folds of the curtain did not quite cover the bottom of the window he caught sight of the light within. The damsels, however, little suspecting their danger, went on sewing and stitching and talking amongst themselves about their poor affairs.

“Oh,” said the eldest, “if only the Padishah would wed me to his chief cook, what delicious dishes I should have every day. Yes, and I would embroider him for it a carpet so long that all his horses and all his men could find room upon it.”

“As for me,” said the middling damsel, “I should like to be wedded to the keeper of his wardrobe. What lovely splendid raiment I should then have to put on. And then I would make the Padishah a tent so large, that all his horses and all his men should find shelter beneath it.”

“Well,” cried the youngest damsel, “I’ll look at nobody but the Padishah himself, and if he would only take me to wife I would bear him two little children with golden hair. One should be a boy and the other a girl, and a half-moon should shine on the forehead of the boy, and a bright star should sparkle on the temples of the girl.”

The Padishah heard the discourse of the three damsels, and no sooner did the red dawn shine in the morning sky than he sent for all three to the palace. The eldest he gave to his head pantler, the second to his head chamberlain, but the youngest he took for himself.

And in truth it fared excellently well with the three damsels. The eldest got so many rich dishes to eat, that when it came to sewing the promised carpet she could scarce move her needle for the sleep of surfeit. So they sent her back again to the wood-cutters hut. The second damsel, too, when they dressed her up in gold and silver raiment, would not deign to dirty her fingers by making tents, so they sent her back too, to keep her elder sister company.

And how about the youngest? Well, after nine months and ten days the two elder sisters came sidling up to the palace to see if the poor thing would really be as good as her word, and bring forth the two wondrous children. In the gates of the palace they met an old woman, and they persuaded her with gifts and promises to meddle in the matter. Now this old woman was the devil’s own daughter, so that mischief and malice were her meat and drink. She now went and picked up two pups and took them with her to the sick woman’s bed.

And oh, my soul! the wife of the Padishah brought forth two little children like shining stars. One was a boy, the other a girl; on the boys forehead was a half-moon and on the girl’s a star, so that darkness was turned to light when they were by. Then the wicked old woman exchanged the children for the pups, and told it in the ears of the Padishah that his wife had brought forth two pups. The Padishah was like to have had a fit in the furiousness of his rage. He took his poor wife, buried her up to the waist in the ground, and commanded throughout the city that every passer-by should strike her on the head with a stone. But no sooner had the evil witch got hold of the two children, than she took them a long way outside the town, exposed them on the bank of a flowing stream, and returned to the palace right glad that she had done her work so well.

Now close to the water where the two children lay stood a hut where lived an aged couple. The old man had a she-goat which used to go out in the morning to graze, and come back in the evening to be milked, and that was how the poor people kept body and soul together. One day, however, the old woman was

[Illustration: The Golden-Haired Children.--p. 57.]

surprised to find that the goat did not give one drop of milk. She complained about it to the old man her husband, and told him to follow the goat to see if perchance there was any one who stole the milk.

So the next day the old man went after the goat, which went right up to the water’s edge, and then disappeared behind a tree. And what do you think he saw? He saw a sight which would have delighted your eyes also--two golden-haired children were lying in the grass, and the goat went right up to them and gave them to suck. Then she bleated to them a little, and so left them and went off to graze. And the old man was so delighted at the sight of the little starry things, that he was like to have lost his head for joy. So he took the little ones (Allah had not blessed him with children of his own) and carried them to his hut and gave them to his wife. The woman was filled with a still greater joy at the children which Allah had given her, and took care of them, and brought them up. But now the little goat came bleating in as if in sore distress, but the moment she saw the children, she went to them and suckled them, and then went out to graze again.

But time comes and goes. The two wondrous children grew up and scampered up hill and down dale, and the dark woods were bright with the radiance of their golden hair. They hunted the wild beasts, tended sheep, and helped the old people by word and deed. Time came and went till the children had grown up, and the old people had become very old indeed. The golden-haired ones grew in strength while the silver-haired ones grew in feebleness, till, at last, one morning they lay dead there, and the brother and sister were left all alone. Sorely did the poor little things weep and wail, but was ever woe mended by weeping? So they buried their old parents, and the girl stayed at home with the little she-goat, while the lad went a-hunting, for how to find food was now their great care and their little care too.

One day, while he was hunting wild beasts in the forest, he met his father, the Padishah, but he did not know it was his father, neither did the father recognize his son. Yet the moment the Padishah beheld the wondrously beautiful child, he longed to clasp him to his breast, and commanded those about him to inquire of the child from whence he came.

Then one of the courtiers went up to the youth, and said: “Thou hast shot much game there, my Bey!”--“Allah also has created much,” replied the youth, “and there is enough for thee and for me also,” and with that he left him like a blockhead.

But the Padishah went back to his palace, and was sick at heart because of the boy; and when they asked what ailed him, he said that he had seen such a wondrously beautiful child in the forest, and that he loved him so that he could rest no more. The boy had the very golden hair and the same radiant forehead that his wife had promised him.

The old woman was sore afraid at these words. She hastened to the stream, saw the house, peeped in, and there sat a lovely girl, like a moon fourteen days old. The girl entreated the old woman courteously, and asked her what she sought. The old woman did not wait to be asked twice; indeed, her foot was scarce across the threshold when she began to ask the girl with honey-sweet words whether she lived all alone.

“Nay, my mother,” replied the girl; “I have a young brother. In the day-time he goes hunting, and in the evening he comes home.”

“Dost thou not grow weary of being all alone here by thyself?” inquired the witch.--“If even I did,” said the girl, “what can I do? I must fill up my time as best I may.”

“Tell me now, my little diamond! dost thou dearly love this brother of thine?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, then, my girl,” said the witch, “I’ll tell thee something, but don’t let it go any further! When thy brother comes home this evening, fall to weeping and wailing, and keep it up with all thy might. When then he asks what ails thee, answer him not, and when he asks thee again, again give him never a word. When, however, he asks thee a third time, say that thou art tired to death with staying at home here all by thyself, and that if he loves thee, he will go to the garden of the Queen of the Peris, and bring thee from thence a branch. A lovelier branch thou hast never seen all thy life long.”--The girl promised she would do this, and the old woman went away.

Towards evening the damsel burst forth a-weeping and wailing till both her eyes were as red as blood. The brother came home in the evening, and was amazed to see his sister in such dire distress, yet could he not prevail upon her to tell him the cause of it. He promised her all the grass of the field and all the trees of the forest if she would only tell him what was the matter, and, to satisfy the desire of his sister’s heart, the golden-haired youth set off next morning for the garden of the fairy queen. He went on and on, smoking his chibook and drinking coffee, till he reached the boundaries of the fairy realm. He came to deserts where no caravan had ever gone; he came to mountains where no bird could ever fly; he came to valleys where no serpent can ever crawl. But his trust was in Allah, so he went on and on till he came to an immense desert which the eye of man had never seen nor the foot of man trodden. In the midst of it was a beautiful palace, and by the roadside sat the Mother of Devils, and the smell of her was as the pestilence in the air all round about her.

The youth went straight up to the Mother of Devils, hugged her to his breast, kissed her all over, and said: “Good-day, little mother mine! I am thine own true lad till death!” and he kissed her hand.

“A good-day to thee also, my little son!” replied the Mother of Devils. “If thou hadst not called me thy dear little mother, if thou hadst not embraced me, and if thy innocent mother had not been under the earth, I would have devoured thee at once. But tell me now, my little son, whither away?”

The poor youth said that he wanted a branch from the garden of the Queen of the Peris.

“Who put that word in thy mouth, my little son?” asked the woman in amazement. “Hundreds and hundreds of talismans guard that garden, and hundreds of souls have perished there by reason thereof.”

Yet the youth did not hold back. “I can but die once,” thought he.--“Thou dost but go to salute thy innocent, buried mother,” said the old woman; and then she made the youth sit down beside her and taught him the way: “Set out on thy quest at daybreak, and never stop till thou dost see right in front of thee a well and a forest. Draw forth thine arrows in this forest and catch five to ten birds, but catch them alive. Take these birds to the well, and when thou hast recited a prayer twice over, plunge the birds into the well and cry aloud for a key. A key will straightway be cast out of the well, take it to thee, and go on thy way. Thou wilt come presently to a large cavern; open the door thereof with thy key, and, as soon as thy foot is inside, stretch forth thy right hand into the blank darkness, grip fast hold of whatever thy hand shall touch, drag the thing quickly forth, and cast the key back into the well again. But look not behind thee all the time, or Allah have mercy on thy soul!”

Next day, when the red dawn was in the sky, the youth went forth on his quest, caught the five to ten birds in the forest, got hold of the key, opened therewith the door of the cavern, and--oh, Allah!--stretched forth his right hand, gripped hold of something, and, without once looking behind him, dragged it all the way to his sister’s hut, and never stopped till he got there. Only then did he cast his eyes upon what he had in his hand, and it was neither more nor less than a branch from the garden of the Queen of the Peris. But what a branch it was! It was full of little twigs, and the twigs were full of little leaves, and there was a little bird on every little leaf, and every little bird had a song of its own. Such music, such melody was there as would have brought even a dead man to life again. The whole hut was filled with joy.

Next day the youth again went forth to hunt, and, as he was pursuing the beast of the forest, the Padishah saw him again. He exchanged a word or two with the youth, and then returned to his palace, but he was now sicker than ever, by reason of his love for his son.

Then the old woman strolled off to the hut again, and there she saw the damsel sitting with the magic branch in her hand.

“Well, my girl!” said the old woman, “what did I tell thee? But that’s nothing at all. If thy brother would only fetch thee the mirror of the Queen of the Peris, Allah knows that thou wouldst cast that branch right away. Give him no peace till he get it for thee.”

The witch had no sooner departed than the damsel began screaming and wailing so that her brother was at his wit’s end how to comfort her. He said he would take the whole world on his shoulders to please her, went straight off to the Mother of Devils, and besought her so earnestly that she had not the heart to say him nay.