Part 1



THE GENIAL SULTAN

AND OTHER STORIES

_Harriet Maxon Thayer_

[Illustration: “SELIM, THE SULTAN OF DAR, RENOWNED FOR HIS GOOD NATURE, HAD SET HIS HEART ON A FISHING TRIP”]

The Genial Sultan

The Princess Who Could Not See Late for the Coronation

_By Harriet Maxon Thayer_

[Illustration: colophon]

_Publishers_ DORRANCE _Philadelphia_

Copyright 1923

Dorrance & Company Inc

Manufactured in the United States of America

To

My Mother

CONTENTS

THE GENIAL SULTAN 13

THE PRINCESS WHO COULD NOT SEE 25

LATE FOR THE CORONATION 49

ILLUSTRATIONS

“Selim, the Sultan of Dar, renowned for his good nature, had set his heart on a fishing trip.” _Frontispiece_

“The Princess Gloriana, called for her beauty the Morning Star, was blind.” 26

“Her heart full of joy, the little Princess came at last to her Coronation.” 50

THE GENIAL SULTAN

A sultan should be genial, you’ll admit, even if he is nothing else. But, because so few sultans are, Selim, the Sultan of Dar, renowned for his good nature, was much beloved not only among his own subjects, but among those of nearby lands, all of whom wanted to live in his kingdom.

In fact they crowded in so thickly that Selim had to think and think of ways to get someone else to help take care of them. The truth of the matter was that he wanted a vacation. For he was, as you can imagine, a very busy as well as a very genial sultan. But, although he had set his heart on a fishing trip, it was impossible to find anyone who could take his place even for a week; no one else was able to be, at one and the same time, Decider of Quarrels, Commander in Chief of the Army, Head Writer of the Laws, and also Champion Ball-Player of the nation.

His was indeed a difficult place to fill. Long and long the sultan puzzled over the matter while many new wrinkles went crinkling over his forehead and about his eyes as he pondered. Where was he to find a man to take his place? The Sultan thought of everyone, from Matzar, the Adviser in Chief, whose business it was to give unnecessary advice, and Piff, the Head Jailer, who was out of a job most of the time because the Sultan always pardoned all prisoners two or three hours after he had imprisoned them, to Casia, the youngest of his thirty-one wives, who would have made a very good ruler if she could only have kept herself from poking her nose into other people’s affairs. It was a trait the Sultan very much disliked. But she got along very well with all the other wives because there was nothing that went on inside or outside the minds of others that she could not tell them. She had even come to the point of informing the Sultan of thoughts that he was going to think the day after tomorrow, which was, you will agree, too much.

To go away was not as simple as it would at first appear. The Sultan called a meeting. Of course Matzar, the Chief Adviser, Piff, the Head Jailer, Peran, the First Wife, and Casia, the Beautiful, were there. When the Sultan asked his questions they all fell to talking and planning so hard that they had little time to think of ways and means to help him.

At last Selim, pulling at the corners of his fierce black moustache, cried aloud:

“But all this does not help me to go fishing!”

“If you will not take my advice----” began Matzar.

“And when, Matzar,” demanded the Sultan, “has your advice been taken? Your office is to _give_ advice which no one ever _follows_. You have been very good--I could ask no better counsellor. But that does not help me to go fishing!”

“You are thinking,” put in Casia sweetly, “of how lovely it would be if you could just go away without a word and never come back.”

At that the Sultan glared at her while the ends of his black moustache waved in the air.

“I had not thought of it yet,” he cried curtly. “I was about to think of it the day after tomorrow.”

“He might think of it, my dear,” said Peran, the First Wife, “but he would never do so. He is far too busy. Last week he sent one hundred and three men to prison for theft, laziness and curiosity! He is a very busy man.”

“Ah!” wailed Piff, the Head Jailer, “you do not know! That same week he pardoned one hundred and four of them and my jail is as empty as ever! Oh, for the old days when his father, Trebizond, the Terrible, ruled! There was no overcrowding in the country _then_. Only the prisons were crowded--and those who escaped fled at once to other lands. _Now_ they cannot come back quickly enough. But the rooms in my jail are all going to waste because of Your Majesty’s regrettable good nature. If Your Majesty would not pardon all of them, there would be plenty of room in the city for the rest of us.”

“Yes,” agreed Peran, “he is hopelessly genial.”

“There is much in what you say,” replied the Sultan. “But all this does not help me to go fishing.”

“He was always one to stick to a point,” went on Peran, a remark which almost made the Sultan angry.

“I have an idea!” he exclaimed finally, pleased with himself to have thought of it before Casia could guess it.

“What?” they demanded in one breath.

“I shall have a medal struck off,” said the Sultan. “There shall be but one like it in all the land. It shall be wrought of ivory and inlaid with rubies--and he who wins it shall rule in my place for a week.”

“But what must he do to win it?” asked Matzar.

“That, is my secret,” answered Selim, looking very hard at Casia whom he feared had already guessed it.

“Could a woman win it?” demanded Peran.

“That she might,” said Selim, who had no objection to women voting, thinking or even talking--he was so genial.

“But how?” gasped Peran and Casia together.

For answer the Sultan only put his finger to his lips and smiled mysteriously.

The next morning forty craftsmen went to work for forty days on the ivory medal, carving it, hunting for precious stones to adorn it, and polishing them until they shone like starlight over mountain torrents. Then, when it was finished, the Sultan sent forth a herald who carried it aloft, swung on a golden chain, and proclaimed to all the people that he who won it should rule for a week in the Sultan’s palace.

Much clamor and talk arose throughout the length and breadth of the land. The news flew from mouth to mouth. Crowds gathered in the already over-crowded streets. But when, one day, the Sultan appeared dressed as a hermit in rough, gray robes and walking barefooted, excitement and curiosity knew no bounds. All stopped to look and gape, pressing so close to him that only a very narrow pathway was left for the Sultan amid the jostling shoulders.

“Your Majesty,” advised Matzar, who was shocked at this behavior, “I should like to suggest that you put on your royal robes again instead of these ridiculous rags. What are you doing in the streets without your proper clothing?”

“Merely trying to do my morning shopping,” replied the Sultan calmly, “if these people would only let me pass. I am badly in need of some new fish-hooks----”

“Your Majesty’s jokes,” interrupted Matzar, “are not----”

But his words were cut short by a loud cheer; and, as he looked, he saw that the Sultan had shed his gray hermit’s robe and now appeared as a fighter, armed only with a short dagger. The people then thought that they understood and, nodding wisely, many of them ran home and returned similarly clad. But, although the Sultan fought with many he encountered, bearing defeat from some (while others he vanquished), no one was awarded the ivory medal, not even Matzar, who had disarmed the Sultan three times.

“Why do I not then win the medal?” he demanded of the Sultan.

But the Sultan only threw back his head and laughed.

“It is not a medal for fighters,” he replied. “Is it not enough that you have defeated your ruler?”

But, although the Sultan laughed much, he was still sad at heart. He thought of all the fishes slipping away forever down the flashing streams to the sea, and sighed.

Three days went by and on the fourth the Sultan issued from his palace clad in the bright orange garments of a street merchant. On his head he balanced, somewhat awkwardly, a tray on which were silver images, jewelled bracelets and strings of pearls. There was no one who did not stop his work to watch the Sultan pass. No one thought of anything else that day. Still the medal remained hidden in the Sultan’s scarlet girdle; and although he joked with those who bought his wares, a longer wrinkle than ever crept toward the corners of his mouth. He walked on, balancing the heavy tray on his head, until he had come to the outskirts of the city. There again Matzar addressed him.

“Is this a joke?” he demanded huffily, “this medal and this fishing trip? If so, I advise you to give it up.”

“Be careful, Matzar,” warned the Sultan. “Someday you will give advice that I can follow and then you will lose your job.”

Just then the Sultan stopped short and he was so surprised at what he saw that he very nearly tipped over the precious tray and all that it contained.

“Look!” exclaimed Selim.

There, seated on a high chair before her shop, stringing jade beads upon a scarlet thread, sat a young slave girl, her bronze arms flashing in the sunlight with each motion of her slender body. Her profile was fine as the line of the cloud that had drifted across the sky. Her clear green eyes followed each turn of her needle so intently that she never glanced at Selim and Matzar as they paused before her. When she did look up, however, Selim knew that she recognized him--for who in all the land knew not the Genial Sultan--but, unlike the mob, she gave no sign of surprise.

“Wouldst buy or sell?” she asked.

“I would buy your string of green beads,” the Sultan answered, “green like the forests where I am so soon to go.”

“Your Majesty does not _know_ that he----” began Matzar.

But the Sultan did not let him finish. He addressed the girl again.

“Do you know me?”

“You are Selim,” replied the slave girl, “Sultan of Dar.”

“And do you not think it strange that I lay aside my royal robes to walk the streets as a common merchant?”

Then the slave girl made a reply that caused all the crowd to gasp.

“I ply my trade and you ply yours,” she said, while her silver needle again flashed in the air, “nor have I time to sit and stare.”

“Well, of all----!” Matzar started to speak, but once more the Sultan stopped him.

“What do you want for your string of jade?” he asked.

“What will you give me for it?” replied the slave girl.

For answer the Sultan slipped his hand into his orange robe and drew forth the ivory medal that it had taken forty days to fashion, and threw it about her neck.

“She only,” he said, “who can tend her own affairs in peace and let me tend mine, can rule my people wisely.”

So the slave girl, amid the rejoicings of the multitude, was crowned Thirty-Second Sultana of the land.

“We will turn the jail into a hotel,” she said on her Coronation Day, “for with the Genial Sultan as ruler, it is a complete waste as a jail. It is so big that there will be plenty of room for all.”

The Sultan, hearing, knew that he had chosen well and, slipping his rods over his shoulder and his pail over his arm, he crept quietly out of the back door of the palace and went fishing.

THE PRINCESS WHO COULD NOT SEE

[Illustration: “THE PRINCESS GLORIANA, CALLED FOR HER BEAUTY THE MORNING STAR, WAS BLIND”]

Away to the south, in the country where all the dead flowers go to grow again in winter time, an aged king reigned with his daughter over an outlying island, set like a green bouquet amid the tossing blue of the waves. Happy were the people over whom he ruled and King Hesperon might well have been happy, too, had it not been that one great sorrow brought trouble to his heart and soon silvered the hair beneath his gem-set crown. For the Princess Gloriana, called for her beauty the Morning Star, was blind. No vision had ever come to the deep eyes, blue as the larkspur that bent in the winds as they raced through her father’s gardens. When she looked out to the open spaces of the sea, there was nothing but a dark veil before her eyes, and when she listened to the screams of the birds, curving over her head, she could only picture them in her fancy. Strange pictures she made, perhaps not at all like the real birds, but to her they were very beautiful. Much indeed her father had told her about the pink petals of a rose and the soft curve of a baby’s cheek and of the slim fishes that shot noiselessly through the brooks. Still it was only natural that, with it all, the Princess had her own ideas, and, growing more and more to understand things by the sounds that they made, she grew to love them in her own way.

“But oh!” she cried one day to her father, “if I could only see the birds and the clouds but once and look just once on your face and at the great face of the sea, I could be happy.”

And the King, hearing, gave a deep sigh, while a tear like shining dew came to his eye. “If it takes half my kingdom you shall have your wish,” he told her, while she clung to him tightly, her own tears lying thick in her long lashes.

“Alas, Your Majesty,” she said, “it is not possible.”

“You shall see,” he told her.

Now it happened that in a nearby island there was a group of students who were learning to cure the world of its illness and trouble by the study of medicine and a knowledge of the human body. To these the King sent word in a message written upon fine parchment and embossed in many colors. “To him,” ran the message, “who shall bring sight to the eyes of the Princess Gloriana, shall be given half my kingdom and the hand of the Princess herself in marriage.”

So ran the message; and the people, hearing, hurried back and forth through the funny, crooked streets, spreading the news.

“What think you of this?” said one to his neighbor. “The Princess Gloriana, she whose beauty is greater than the dawn, she whom kings have loved, is promised in marriage to any comer who can make her see.”

“The Princess Gloriana?”

“Aye.”

“Have you seen her?” (A crowd began to gather in the streets.)

“I have seen her once,” came the reply, “and so lovely was she, with her white cloak flowing in the wind and her hair, like yellow flower-dust, falling beneath the band of sapphires, that I looked away and the tears came to my eyes at the thought that so lovely a creature should never behold herself in the deep waters of her father’s well.”

“Beautiful she is, indeed,” croaked the old Master-teacher, who, finding that no one had come to school, had joined the throng outside, “but there is only one to win her that I know of in all the world, and he--alas----!” He shook his old bald head on which his dirty black cap sat like a withered bug, and uttered a deep sigh, by which he meant that he feared some awful tragedy, some gloomy end for the Princess Gloriana.

“Who--who is it?” they asked him. “Of whom dost thou speak?”

“Not Stanley the Stalwart?” asked one.

“Perhaps Rupert the Wise,” wondered another.

“Why do you shake your old bald head?”

“And scowl so, Master?”

“Speak----!” “Speak!”

“And that I will if you but give me leave. Many there are that will go to the fair towers of King Hesperon’s castle; but none there be who can work the miracle--excepting one--Stepan, son of Pandor, the Cobbler.”

After he had spoken there was, for a moment, silence. Then a shout arose, full of laughter and jeerings.

“Stepan?” cried one.

“Not Stepan, the Awkward?”

“You _can’t_ mean Stepan?”

“That ungainly fellow?”

“You are mocking us, Master!”

“Ho, ho, ho! Imagine the Princess Gloriana married to that clodhopper!”

“Why, he couldn’t make a proper bow at court. His doublet is worn threadbare!”

“His nose is so large that, when the sun shines, it casts a shadow over half his face!”

“Master!--_Master!_”

But the old Master, clapping his hands about his ears, ran down the cobbled streets to his house, his black sleeves flying to each side of him like the pointed wings of a bat.

* * * * *

It was the last day of the contest. In the high throne room of King Hesperon all were agog with excitement. For weeks and weeks students and masters, kings and peasants, had been trying their cures. The poor Princess was very discouraged. The King sat in gloomy silence on his white rock throne, his head resting on his hand. Several times he had hoped that the cure might work. Once a fine-looking fellow with a velvet coat and lace ruffles and a perfumed handkerchief had shown great promise. Everyone had wanted him to win--everyone except perhaps the Princess herself, who had turned aside a little as he bent over her. It may have been that the perfume had offended her, used as her nostrils were only to the scent of roses and jasmine!

But today there was a larger throng than ever. Nobles from afar in gaily striped robes of blue and gold were there; young students in flame-colored brocades and silver buckles, masters in black robes and pointed shoes and common people in rough brown, all went whispering and laughing up and down the gray stone throne room. It sounded like a great council of bees. Many kings had come from strange countries, and fine ladies in silks and satins, among them two very young, very new queens who had never worn crowns before, and had made terrible mistakes in picking them out. One had bought a crown much too big for her which slipped down over her ears like a bandage, and the other had chosen one so much too tight that she kept pushing it off her head whenever she got excited, as she frequently did. They both were quite content with themselves however.

“I would that the nice young fellow in velvet had won the Princess,” said the First Queen. “I was so excited when he tried his cure that I felt cold even in my ermine coat.” You see, she had not had an ermine cloak very long and she wanted to talk about it, which was quite natural. A nearby student, hearing them, remarked that the fellow had known nothing of medicine or cures and so had failed.

“That doesn’t matter in the least,” snapped the First Queen, getting very angry and shoving her crown off her ears for it was scratching them terribly. “He was very handsome and dressed in _perfect_ taste.”

“And his wonderful perfume, my dear,” cried the Other Queen. “I could smell it--even from here!” Suddenly she nudged the First Queen with her elbow. “Who is _that_?” she asked in a loud whisper, drawing her skirts aside lest they touch the cheap, dark garments of the man who passed them.

“That,” replied her companion, “is Stepan, the Cobbler. Watch him making his bow to the King. He looks as though he would break in two.” And she laughed so hard that her crown got altogether out of place and slipped around over one ear like a tam-o’-shanter.

Silence fell for a moment as the King’s Prime Minister rose to announce the newcomer.

“Stepan, son of Pandor, the Cobbler of Seristo,” read the Prime Minister in a loud voice, while a little ripple of laughter ran through the hall. But the King looked at the Cobbler so kindly that a gleam of hope sparked in the depths of Stepan’s gray eyes, and he made another bow, not quite so clumsy as the first.

“I also have come, Your Majesty,” he said, while his form seemed to gain dignity from his speech, “to cure your daughter’s malady.”

“You speak with great assurance,” said the King.

“And is it not right that he should speak so,” replied Stepan, “who has power to do all that he claims?”

Once again a little rivulet of laughter rose and died along the great stone walls of the throne room. Long the King looked at him, and sighed.

“We shall see,” he said. “In your turn, Stepan.”

“But it _is_ his turn,” interrupted the Prime Minister rudely, “_because everyone else has tried and failed_.”

So the Princess was summoned, and, when she stood at the doorway, a hush fell like night over the people; for her beauty had a great radiance. In the narrow circlet that bound her long, gold hair, a yellow topaz shone like the morning star, and, as she moved, the gauze of her dress, soft as the peaceful, purple shadows over the hills, swept like a cloud about her ankles. But her eyes, blue as the larkspur, looked forth, unseeing. A little wearily, a little sadly, perhaps, she leaned on the arm of the Prime Minister who had come forward to help her to her throne.

Now so intent was Stepan upon the thing that he was about to do, that he almost forgot to make his third bow to the King, and started up the steps to the throne on which sat the Princess, giving only the jerkiest nod of the head toward the King’s throne. The remarks that flew from mouth to mouth were anything but complimentary!

Then an odd thing happened, very strange at Court where it is the custom for no one to speak unless commanded to do so by the King. Stepan, when he had almost reached the white ivory throne on which sat the Princess awaiting him, turned abruptly to the King. And what he said was so surprising and absurd, and Stepan looked so awkward standing there in his patched, brown clothes among all those gay colors, that the Prime Minister gave a little grunt right out loud and the two queens forgot altogether to whisper to each other and stood looking at Stepan with their mouths wide open.

“Your Majesty,” began Stepan in a quiet but very soft and mellow voice that brought a little smile to the lips of the Princess, “Your Majesty, before I shall apply my remedy to your daughter’s eyes, I have one request to make--in case I am successful.”

“Well!” exclaimed the queen with the big crown, that by this time had fallen down over one eye, “the greedy fellow! As if the King----! The rest of her remark was lost in the King’s reply.

“Speak, Stepan,” he said, “for I have sworn to restore my daughter’s sight if it takes all that I have.”