THE STORY of THE FALSE PRINCE

THE STORY OF THE FALSE PRINCE.

THERE was once a worthy tailor’s apprentice named Labakan, who was learning his trade from a clever master at Alexandria.

Labakan.

No one could accuse the young man of being awkward in plying his needle, on the contrary he worked very well indeed. Neither was he at all lazy, and yet there was certainly something wrong with him, for though at times he would sit and sew for hours at such a rate that his needle became red-hot, yet another time, and this occurred pretty frequently, too, he sat wrapped in thought, staring before him with unseeing eyes, and having altogether such a very singular appearance, that his master and his fellow apprentices would nudge each other and say: “Labakan is putting on his grand airs again.”

On Friday, when other folk were returning quietly homewards to their work after their prayers, 88] Labakan strutted out from the mosque, decked in fine clothes, which had cost him a good deal of trouble to procure, and paraded himself through the streets and squares of the city. When any of his companions met him and saluted him with: “Peace be with thee,” or “How is it with thee to-day, friend Labakan?” he would merely reply by a wave of the hand, or a dignified nod. Sometimes his master would say to him in a joke: “What a fine prince you would make, to be sure, Labakan.” Then, instead of seeing he was being laughed at, he would be delighted and replied—“So you have noticed that too, my master? I have long thought so myself.”

And so the foolish apprentice would go on, but his master put up with his nonsense because he was not only a very clever workman, but a good fellow too.

But one day the Sultan’s brother Selim, who happened to be travelling through Alexandria, sent a robe to Labakan’s master to have some slight alteration made. The work was given to Labakan, because his work was finer than that of any of the other apprentices.

In the evening, when the master and the men had all gone home to enjoy a little well-earned rest and amusement after the labours of the day, an irresistible longing drew Labakan back to the workshop, for he wished to feast his eyes upon the Prince Selim’s robe.

For some time he stood before it admiring the gold embroidery and the brilliant colours of the silk and velvet, until at length he could resist no 89] longer and put it on. It fitted him exactly as though it had been made for him. “Do I not make as fine a prince as Selim?” he asked himself, strutting backwards and forwards across the room. “How often has the master himself told me that I was born to be a prince!”

With the royal robe Labakan seemed also to have assumed a royal mood and he began really to persuade himself that he must be a king’s son in disguise, and he therefore decided to leave the place, where the people all seemed too stupid to recognise his worth. It seemed to him as though the splendid robe had been sent to him by some good fairy and to be too precious a gift to be despised, and so, putting the little money he possessed into his pockets, he slipped through the gates of Alexandria, his flight being covered by the darkness of the night. The new prince caused a good deal of surprise amongst the people of the towns he passed through, for it was not usual to see a man so handsomely arrayed walking on foot, but on being questioned he would reply in dignified tones that he had his own reasons for so travelling. This, however, did not satisfy the folks, and when he found he was making a laughing-stock of himself, he spent part of his money in purchasing a broken-down old horse, which he obtained for a very small sum, and which suited him excellently, because its quiet pace called for little display of horsemanship and therefore did not betray the fact that he was an unskilful rider.

One day, as he rode carefully along upon old 90] Murva, as he had named his horse, he was joined by another rider, who requested permission to travel in his company, as converse made the time pass more pleasantly and quickly.

This rider was a cheery young fellow, and very good-looking. He questioned Labakan as to whence he came and whither he was going, and it appeared that he too was riding about at present merely for his own pleasure. He told his new friend that his name was Omar and that he was the nephew of Elfi Bey, the unfortunate Pasha of Cairo, and that his uncle had made a communication to him shortly before his death which would presently necessitate his taking a journey in a certain direction. Labakan was not quite so communicative as his companion, but he intimated that he came of very high parentage and was travelling for his own pleasure.

The two young men seemed mutually pleased with each other and on the second day Labakan had become sufficiently familiar with him to ask him what was the communication Elfi Bey had made to him, and was much surprised to hear the following: Elfi Bey had brought up Omar from his earliest youth and he had never known his own parents. But the Pasha, being defeated and mortally wounded by his enemies, thought the right time had now come to tell his adopted nephew that, instead of being his nephew, he was really the son of a mighty ruler, who had removed the young prince from his court on account of a prophecy the astrologers had made concerning him, and who 91] had declared he would not see his son again until his two-and-twentieth birthday.

Elfi Bey had not told him his father’s name, but had given him minute instructions as to what he was to do. Upon the fourth day of the coming month of Ramadan, which was his birthday, he was to go to the celebrated Pillar of El-Serujah, four day’s journey east of Alexandria. He would there find some men awaiting him, to whom he was to present a dagger, with the words, “I am he whom ye seek.” The men would answer, “Praised be the Prophet who has preserved thee,” and he was to follow them, for they would then lead him to his father. The tailor’s apprentice was very much astonished to hear his companion’s story and regarded him with envious eyes, inwardly raging over the fate which had first allowed Omar to pass for the nephew of a mighty pasha, and yet heaped still further dignity upon him by proving him to be a royal prince, whilst Labakan, though possessing all the attributes of a prince, came from humble origin and belonged to a common trade.

He was forced to confess that the young prince was of a pleasing countenance and possessed gentle and engaging manners, and yet in spite of that he tried to persuade himself that the young man’s father would have preferred him, Labakan, for his son.

All day long he dwelt upon this and dreamt of its possibility at night, and when morning dawned and he looked upon the face of the unconscious youth, he determined to take by cunning what an unkind fate had denied him. The dagger which 92] was to establish the prince’s identity was stuck in his girdle, and Labakan drew it out and placed it in his own, then, mounting the prince’s fleeter steed, he rode off and was many miles away before the prince awoke and discovered the trick his perfidious companion had played him.

It was the first day of the month of Ramadan, and so Labakan had four days in which to reach the Pillar of El-Serujah, which was well known to him and which was only two days’ journey; but he hurried on as fast as he could, because he feared the real prince would overtake him.

At the end of the second day he came in sight of the Pillar, which stood upon a little hill in the midst of a wide plain, and could be seen for some miles away.

Labakan’s heart beat wildly and his guilty conscience made him afraid as to whether he might be able to carry out his intentions, but he comforted himself with the thought that he had been born to be a prince and rode on.

The neighbourhood of the Pillar of El-Serujah was uninhabited and desolate, and the new prince would have been in sad straits had it not been for his forethought in providing himself with food for several days, so he encamped beneath a palm tree, with his horse tethered beside him, and there awaited his fate.

Towards the middle of the following day he saw a great company of horses and camels advancing across the plain towards him. The company halted at the foot of the hill and pitched 93] magnificent tents, the whole giving the impression of being the escort of some powerful pasha or sheik.

Labakan guessed these were the men who had come to meet him, and would have liked to present their future ruler to them immediately, but suppressed his eagerness to take upon himself the rôle of prince, as the following day was to see the accomplishment of all his desires.

The morning sun awakened the overjoyed tailor to the most important moment of his life, for he was to be raised from his lowly position to the side of a royal father.

At the end of the second day he came in sight of the Pillar. (P. 92.)

It is true that, as he saddled his horse and prepared to ride towards the Pillar, he could not but remember what a dishonest step he was about to take, and also what pain and grief he was bringing to the real prince in blighting all the hopes he had in life, but the die was cast and he could not undo what he had already done, and his love of self whispered to his heart that he was handsome and stately enough to be the son of the mightiest of kings.

Encouraged by this thought he sprang upon his horse and, summoning all the bravery he possessed, 94] ventured to urge his steed to a gallop, and in less than a quarter of an hour he was at the foot of the hill.

He dismounted and, drawing forth Prince Omar’s dagger, began to climb the hill.

At the base of the Pillar stood six men, surrounding a grey-headed old man of noble and majestic appearance, who was glad in a magnificent caftan of pure gold wrapped around with a white cashmere shawl, a white turban glistening with diamonds, all of which betokened him to be a man of high estate and honour.

Labakan approached him, and, bowing before him, presented the dagger, with these words: “I am he whom you seek.”

“Blessed be the Prophet who hath preserved thee,” answered the old man, whilst tears of joy streamed down his face: “embrace thy father, my dear, dear son!”

The tailor had the grace to feel both touched and ashamed as the arms of the aged prince enfolded him.

But not for long was he to be left in undisturbed possession of his new position, for he soon perceived a rider hurrying across the plain towards them. Horse and rider presented a somewhat peculiar appearance, for whilst the animal appeared to be either unwilling or unable through fatigue to proceed further, the rider urged him forward with both hands and feet. Only too soon did Labakan recognise the pair as his horse Murva and the rightful prince; but he was desperate and determined to brazen it out.

95] The rider had been seen beckoning and making signs from a long way back, and now that, in spite of the wretched pace of his horse, he had reached the foot of the hill, he hastily dismounted and dashed up the hill. “Wait,” he cried frantically, “wait, and do not let yourselves be deceived by the basest of impostors. I am Omar, and I will allow no one to misuse my name.”

The spectators of this extraordinary scene were astounded, particularly the aged prince, who turned from one to the other of the two claimants in uncertainty. But Labakan turned to him and said in a voice of studied calmness—“Most gracious lord and father, do not allow yourself to be deceived, this man is but a mad tailor’s apprentice, who deserves our pity rather than our anger.”

These words well-nigh drove the prince crazy. Foaming with rage, he would have rushed upon Labakan had not the bystanders prevented him.

“You have spoken truly, my dear son,” said the aged prince. “The poor man must indeed be mad. He shall be bound and placed upon one of the camels and perhaps later we may be able to do something for him.”

The young man’s rage had exhausted itself and he cried to the prince: “My heart tells me that you are my father, and I pray you, by the memory of my mother, to give me a hearing.”

But the prince only shook his head—“How the poor fellow raves,” he said, then, leaning upon the false prince’s arm, he began to descend the hill. They then mounted beautifully caparisoned 96] horses and rode at the head of the company across the plains.

The unfortunate prince had his hands firmly bound and was placed upon a camel whilst a guard rode on either side of him to watch his every movement.

The aged prince was named Saaud, and he was Sultan of the Wechabites.

For a long time he had been childless and then one son had been born to him. But the astrologers whom he had consulted as to the boy’s future told him that until he had passed the age of twenty-two he would be in constant danger of being supplanted by an enemy, and therefore he had entrusted the care of his child to his old and valued friend Elfi Bey, and had passed two-and-twenty anxious years awaiting his son’s coming.

The Sultan told his supposed son this story and added how pleased and more than contented he was with his appearance and bearing.

On reaching the Sultan’s own country they were greeted with shouts of joy by the whole populace, for the news of the prince’s coming had spread like wildfire through all the villages and towns. Arches of flowers and greenery spanned the roads, and tapestries of gorgeous colours decked the houses, and all the people shouted praise to the Prophet for sending them such a handsome prince. No wonder the tailor’s heart swelled with pride and joy, whilst Prince Omar felt more unhappy than ever at his sad state. The air resounded with cries of “Omar,” but he who had the right to the name rode 97] unnoticed through the throng, except when now and then some one asked who it was that was bound and guarded so securely. Then the answers his guards made caused his heart to sink: “He is but a mad tailor,” they said.

The procession at length reached the Sultan’s capital, where everything had been prepared for their reception with even greater splendour than in the other towns. The Sultana, an elderly and dignified lady, awaited them with her entire court in the most magnificent room in the palace. The floor of the apartment was covered with an enormous carpet and the walls were hung with pale blue cloth, draped with golden cords and tassels which hung from silver hooks.

As it was already dark when the procession reached the palace, the room was lighted with innumerable many-coloured lamps, the light from which turned night into day. Beneath the brightest light the Sultana sat upon her throne, which was raised upon four steps and was of pure gold set with amethysts. The four most distinguished emirs held a canopy of red silk over her head, and the Sheik of Medina fanned her with a fan of peacock’s feathers.

Thus the Sultana awaited the coming of the son she had not seen since his birth, although in her dreams he had been frequently present with her, so that she felt certain she would know him again in the midst of thousands.

Presently the noise of the approaching procession was heard, and before long the curtains were drawn 98] aside and the Sultan approached his wife, leading his supposed son by the hand.

“Here I bring you the son you have yearned for so long,” he cried. But the Sultana would not allow him to proceed—“That is not my son,” said she. “Those are not the features the Prophet allowed me to gaze on in my dreams.”

Just as the Sultan was about to reprove her for her superstition, the door burst open and in dashed the rightful prince, who had managed to escape from his guards. Breathlessly he flung himself before the throne and cried: “Slay me here if you will, O cruel father, for this shame will I bear no longer.”

All present were astounded at his words, and the guards would once more have seized the unfortunate prince, but the Sultana stepped forward and, gazing at him earnestly, cried: “Stay, this is my rightful son, this is he whom my eyes have never rested on since his birth, but whom my heart recognises nevertheless.”

The guards drew back involuntarily; but the Sultan cried to them in wrath to seize the madman. “It is for me to decide,” he said angrily. “Of what worth are the dreams of a woman beside the real token which this, my son, brought me from my friend Elfi Bey. He who brought the dagger is the rightful heir.”

“It was stolen,” cried Omar furiously. “He betrayed my confidence with treachery and stole the dagger.”

But the Sultan would not listen to his son, 99] for he was very obstinate when once he had formed an opinion, and he ordered Omar to be taken away by force, and he went to his own room violently enraged with the Sultana, with whom he had lived in peace and happiness for the last five-and-twenty years. Of course Labakan accompanied him; but the Sultana remained behind in great grief, for she was absolutely certain that an impostor had gained the affection of the Sultan and ousted their own son.

When her grief had somewhat subsided she set herself to think of means wherewith she could convince her husband of his error. This was a difficult task, for the dagger had been the token decided upon as a means of recognition, and moreover Omar had related so much of his early life to Labakan that the tailor was able to play his part without betraying himself.

She called to her presence the men who had been with the Sultan at the Pillar of El-Serujah, in order to question them narrowly as to what had taken place there, and then she took counsel with her most confidential slaves.

Many suggestions were offered, but at length an old Circassian woman asked: “Did not the bearer of the dagger say that he whom you regard as your son was in reality Labakan, a tailor’s apprentice?”

“Yes, that is so,” replied the Sultana, “but I do not see what that has to do with the case.”

“May it not be that he gave his own name and trade to your son?” said the slave. “If this is so, then I know of a plan by which we can 100] detect the impostor, and which I will tell you of in secret.”

The slave whispered her plan in the Sultana’s ear, and the mistress approved so well of it that she prepared herself at once to go into the Sultan’s presence.

The Sultana was a wise woman, well knowing the Sultan’s weak points and how to take advantage of them, and so she pretended to yield her opinion and to be willing to accept the false son, merely making one condition. The Sultan, who regretted the anger he had shown towards his wife, readily agreed to let her make her own condition.

“Well,” said she, “we will set the two claimants a task. Anyone can manage a horse or throw a spear; but I have hit upon something more difficult. We will see which of them shall make the best caftan and a pair of trousers.”

The Sultan laughed good-naturedly: “And so my son is to compete with your crazy tailor,” he said. “Well, be it as you will, but if the tailor makes ever so fine a caftan I will not own him as a son.”

The Sultan went to his son and begged him to gratify the whim of his mother who wished for a caftan made by the hands of her son. Labakan laughed for joy. If it only depended on that, he thought, then the Sultana would very speedily be well pleased with him.

Two rooms had been prepared, one for the prince, the other for the tailor, and there they were 101] to give proof of their skill, and each was given a piece of silk, scissors, needles and thread. The Sultan was very curious as to what sort of a thing his son’s caftan would look like.

The Sultana felt nervous and her heart beat anxiously lest her plan should prove a failure.

Two days were allowed the young men in which to complete their task, and on the third day the Sultan sent for his wife and as soon as she had joined him he ordered the two young men to be brought in and to bring their caftans with them.

The slave whispered her plan in the Sultana’s ear. (P. 100.)

Labakan strode triumphantly into the apartment and spread out his garment proudly before the eyes of the astonished Sultan. “See, father,” said he, “see, most honoured mother, is this not a masterpiece? I would lay a wager that even the court tailor himself could not make a better one.”

The Sultana smiled and turned to Omar: “And what have you accomplished, my son?” said she.

For reply Omar flung the roll of silk and scissors upon the floor. “I was taught to manage 102] a horse, to handle a sword, and to hurl a lance,” said he, “but the art of needlework is unknown to me, neither is it a fitting art for the adopted son of Elfi Bey, the ruler of Cairo.”

“O thou true son of thy father,” cried the Sultana, “oh! that I might embrace thee and claim thee for my son. Pardon me, my lord and master,” she said, turning to the Sultan, “that I have tricked you in this way, in order to prove to you which is the prince and which the tailor. Certainly the caftan your son has made is a magnificent one, but I should like to ask him who taught him his trade?”

The Sultan bit his lip and glanced suspiciously first at his wife and then at Labakan, who had turned crimson with embarrassment and vexation at having betrayed himself.

“This test is not sufficient,” the Sultan decreed, “but Allah be praised, I know of a way out of the difficulty.”

He ordered his swiftest horse to be saddled, mounted in haste, and rode off towards a wood, which was not far from the city. In the midst of this wood dwelt a fairy named Adolzaide, who was said to have befriended previous Sultans of that country and given them good advice when they were in any difficulty, and so the Sultan turned to her in his present trouble.

He reached the spot where she was supposed to dwell, and having dismounted and tethered his horse to a tree, he cried out in a loud voice: “Adolzaide, if it be true that you have befriended 103] my fathers in former times, help me now in my dire need, I pray you.”

Scarcely had he spoken these words when the trunk of a cedar tree parted and a veiled woman, clad in long white garments, appeared.

“I know your errand, Sultan Saaud,” she said, “and I am ready to help you, because your desire is an honourable and just one. Take these two caskets, show them to the two youths who claim to be your son, and let them choose which casket they will have. The true Omar will not fail to choose rightly, and you will then be no longer in doubt as to which is your heir.”

The veiled woman then handed him two caskets of ivory, richly ornamented with gold and pearls. Upon the lids of the caskets, which the Sultan was unable to raise, were inscriptions in glittering diamonds; one was “Honour and Glory” and the other “Happiness and Riches.” The Sultan racked his brains to try and discover how the caskets could possibly help him to discover his real son. He tried again and again to open the lids, but in vain.

As soon as the Sultan reached his palace he sent for the Sultana and told her the result of his visit to the fairy, and her heart leapt with joy, for she was certain that now the truth would be arrived at.

A table was placed before the Sultan’s throne and upon it the Sultan himself placed the two caskets, then he seated himself upon his throne and made a sign to one of his slaves to open the 104] doors of the apartment. A brilliant train of pashas and emirs streamed in, for they had been ordered to be in attendance when this further trial was made. They seated themselves upon the cushions ranged along the walls, and then the Sultan ordered Labakan to be summoned.

Proudly he stepped into the room and, bowing before the throne, asked: “What does my lord and father command?”

“My son,” replied the Sultan, “as some doubt has been cast upon your claim to bear the name you call yourself, this test will decide the truth. Here are two caskets; choose one, I doubt not you will choose rightly.”

Labakan approached the caskets and read the inscriptions; he pondered awhile and then said—“Honoured father! what can be greater than the happiness of being your son, and what more noble than the riches of your favour? I choose the casket with the inscriptions ‘Happiness and Riches.’”

“Later on we will see if you have chosen rightly,” said the Sultan, and then he signed to his slaves to bring Omar in.

His downcast looks and dejected mien roused the pity of all who beheld him. He threw himself down before the throne and enquired what the will of the Sultan might be.

He was told he had to choose one of the caskets upon the table. He read the inscriptions carefully and then said: “The last few day have taught me how uncertain happiness is and how fleeting are riches; but 107] they have also taught me that honour dwells for ever in the brave man’s heart, and the glory of a good name is better than riches—therefore I choose ‘Honour and Glory.’”

THE STORY OF THE FALSE PRINCE CHOOSING THE CASKETS (p. 104)

Before the Sultan allowed either of the young men to open their caskets he sent for a ewer of water from the holy stream in Mecca, and, having washed his hands, he turned his face towards the East and prayed to the Prophet that he would allow this test to decide beyond all doubt the identity of the rightful prince. Then he arose and bade the young men open their caskets, but although before it had been found impossible to raise the lids they now flew open of their own accord.

Inside Omar’s casket, upon a tiny velvet cushion, lay a little golden crown and sceptre, but within Labakan’s lay a needle and thread.

The Sultan commanded them to bring the caskets to him. He took the little crown from its velvet bed and immediately it began to increase in size until it was large enough to set upon his son’s head, which the Sultan did, bidding Omar sit down at his right hand.

Then turning to Labakan, he said: “There is an old proverb, ‘The shoemaker must stick to his last,’ and it seems that you must stick to your needle. Had it not been that someone, to whom I can deny nothing, has pleaded for you, it would have gone hardly with you, but as it is I will spare your wretched life, but I warn you to hasten to leave my country.”

108] Ashamed and repentant, Labakan cast himself at the feet of the prince.

“Can you ever forgive me my treachery?” he cried, with tears in his eyes.

“‘Faithful to a friend, generous to an enemy,’ is the motto of our race,” answered the prince—“therefore I bid thee ‘go in peace.’”

“You are indeed my son,” cried the aged Sultan, embracing him, and all the pashas and emirs rose and shouted: “Hail to the king’s son, hail to our noble prince.”

During the noise occasioned by these general rejoicings, Labakan, his casket beneath his arm, slipped unperceived from the room.

He hurried down to the stable, bridled his horse Murva, and rode out of the gateway in the direction of Alexandria.

His life as prince appeared to him now like a brief but splendid dream, only the beautiful casket set with pearls and diamonds remained to remind him that he had not dreamt it all.

When at length he reached Alexandria, he rode to the shop of his former master, dismounted, fastened his horse to the door-post and went in.

His master, who did not recognise him at first, bowed and asked what he might require, but when he looked at the supposed customer more closely he saw who he was and, calling his apprentices and pupils to come to his assistance, they all set upon Labakan and beat him soundly with whatever they happened to have in their hands, flat irons, measures, shears, and so 109] on, until at last the poor fellow fell at their feet as limp as a heap of old clothes.

As he lay there his master gave him a sound rating for having stolen the caftan; in vain Labakan assured him he was there to restore it, no one would believe him, and some of the apprentices picked him up and threw him out of the door. He managed to get upon Murva’s back and rode away to a little inn, where he was glad to lay his weary head upon a pillow, whilst he mused upon the uncertainty of happiness and the vanity of earthly riches, and before he fell asleep he had determined to renounce his dreams of grandeur and set to work to earn his living as an honest fellow.

The next day, being still of the same mind, he sold his casket to a dealer in precious stones, bought himself a house and set up a workshop. He hung out a sign with “Labakan, Tailor,” painted upon it, and then began to await his customers.

As his clothing had been most grievously torn by the rough handling he had received from his master and former companions, he took the needle and thread he had found in the casket and began to repair his clothing. He was called away and on his return, as he was about to continue his work what was his surprise to find his needle sewing busily away without any hand to guide it and making the finest and neatest stitches, quite surpassing the best work Labakan had ever done.

Truly, even the smallest of fairy gifts is bound to prove useful and valuable. Not the least value 110] of this gift was the fact that the thread in the needle was never used up, but sewed on and on, no matter how much the needle sewed.

It was no wonder Labakan soon became famous as a tailor. Orders flocked in from far and near, and all he had to do was to start the needle sewing, and it went straight on by itself until the garment was finished.

Master Labakan worked so much better and cheaper than any other tailor in Alexandria that everybody wished to have their clothes made by him; only one thing puzzled them, he employed no assistants and he always worked with his door shut.

So after all the motto on his casket came true, for happiness and riches came to him, though in a different guise to what he had expected them. From time to time he heard news of Prince Omar. It was said that he was the bravest of the brave, the pride and glory of his people, and the terror of his enemies. At such times as he heard of him Labakan would say to himself: “I am better off as a tailor, for to win honour and glory one must risk one’s life.”

And so he lived happy and contented all the days of his life, and as for the magic needle, for all I know to the contrary, it may be sewing busily away to this very day.

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