Complete Works of Howard Pyle

by Howard Pyle

  By morning every copper of what had been given to the elder fagot-maker was gone, and he had never had such a good time in his life before. All that day and for a week the head of Ali was so full of the memory of the merry night that he had enjoyed that he could think of nothing else. At last, one evening, he asked Abdallah for another piece of gold, and Abdallah gave it to him, and by the next morning it had vanished in the same way that the other had flown. By-and-by Ali borrowed a third piece of money, and then a fourth and then a fifth, so that by the time that six months had passed and gone he had spent thirty of the hundred pieces that had been found, and in all that time Abdallah had used not so much as a pistareen.

  But when Ali came for the thirty-and-first loan, Abdallah refused to let him have any more money. It was in vain that the elder begged and implored — the younger abided by what he had said.

  Then Ali began to put on a threatening front. “You will not let me have the money?” he said.

  “No, I will not.”

  “You will not?”

  “No!”

  “Then you shall!” cried Ali; and, so saying, caught the younger fagot-maker by the throat, and began shaking him and shouting “Help! Help! I am robbed! I am robbed!” He made such an uproar that half a hundred men, women, and children were gathered around them in less than a minute. “Here is ingratitude for you!” cried Ali. “Here is wickedness and thievery! Look at this wretch, all good men, and then turn away your eyes! For twelve years have I lived with this young man as a father might live with a son, and now how does he repay me? He has stolen all that I have in the world — a purse of seventy sequins of gold.”

  All this while poor Abdallah had been so amazed that he could do nothing but stand and stare like one stricken dumb; whereupon all the people, thinking him guilty, dragged him off to the judge, reviling him and heaping words of abuse upon him.

  Now the judge of that town was known far and near as the “Wise Judge;” but never had he had such a knotty question as this brought up before him, for by this time Abdallah had found his speech, and swore with a great outcry that the money belonged to him.

  But at last a gleam of light came to the Wise Judge in his perplexity. “Can any one tell me,” said he, “which of these fellows has had money of late, and which has had none?”

  His question was one easily enough answered; a score of people were there to testify that the elder of the two had been living well and spending money freely for six months and more, and a score were also there to swear that Abdallah had lived all the while in penury. “Then that decides the matter,” said the Wise Judge. “The money belongs to the elder fagot-maker.”

  “But listen, oh my lord judge!” cried Abdallah. “All that this man has spent I have given to him — I, who found the money. Yes, my lord, I have given it to him, and myself have spent not so much as a single mite.”

  All who were present shouted with laughter at Abdallah’s speech, for who would believe that any one would be so generous as to spend all upon another and none upon himself?

  So poor Abdallah was beaten with rods until he confessed where he had hidden his money; then the Wise Judge handed fifty sequins to Ali and kept twenty himself for his decision, and all went their way praising his justice and judgment.

  That is to say, all but poor Abdallah; he went to his home weeping and wailing, and with every one pointing the finger of scorn at him. He was just as poor as ever, and his back was sore with the beating that he had suffered. All that night he continued to weep and wail, and when the morning had come he was weeping and wailing still.

  Now it chanced that a wise man passed that way, and, hearing his lamentation, stopped to inquire the cause of his trouble. Abdallah told the other of his sorrow, and the wise man listened, smiling, till he was done, and then he laughed outright. “My son,” said he, “if every one in your case should shed tears as abundantly as you have done, the world would have been drowned in salt water by this time. As for your friend, think not ill of him; no man loveth another who is always giving.”

  “Nay,” said the young fagot-maker, “I believe not a word of what you say. Had I been in his place I would have been grateful for the benefits, and not have hated the giver.”

  But the wise man only laughed louder than ever. “Maybe you will have the chance to prove what you say some day,” said he, and went his way, still shaking with his merriment.

  “All this,” said Ali Baba, “is only the beginning of my story; and now if the damsel will fill up my pot of ale, I will begin in earnest and tell about the cave of the Genie.”

  He watched Little Brown Betty until she had filled his mug, and the froth ran over the top. Then he took a deep draught and began again.

  Though Abdallah had affirmed that he did not believe what the wise man had said, nevertheless the words of the other were a comfort, for it makes one feel easier in trouble to be told that others have been in a like case with one’s self.

  So, by-and-by, Abdallah plucked up some spirit, and, saddling his ass and shouldering his axe, started off to the woods for a bundle of fagots.

  Misfortunes, they say, never come singly, and so it seemed to be with the fagot-maker that day; for that happened that had never happened to him before — he lost his way in the woods. On he went, deeper and deeper into the thickets, driving his ass before him, bewailing himself and rapping his head with his knuckles. But all his sorrowing helped him nothing, and by the time that night fell he found himself deep in the midst of a great forest full of wild beasts, the very thought of which curdled his blood. He had had nothing to eat all day long, and now the only resting-place left him was the branches of some tree. So, unsaddling his ass and leaving it to shift for itself, he climbed to and roosted himself in the crotch of a great limb.

  In spite of his hunger he presently fell asleep, for trouble breeds weariness as it breeds grief.

  About the dawning of the day he was awakened by the sound of voices and the glaring of lights. He craned his neck and looked down, and there he saw a sight that filled him with amazement: three old men riding each upon a milk-white horse and each bearing a lighted torch in his hand, to light the way through the dark forest.

  When they had come just below where Abdallah sat, they dismounted and fastened their several horses to as many trees. Then he who rode first of the three, and who wore a red cap and who seemed to be the chief of them, walked solemnly up to a great rock that stood in the hill-side, and, breaking a switch from a shrub that grew in a cleft, struck the face of the stone, crying in a loud voice, “I command thee to open, in the name of the red Aldebaran!”

  Instantly, creaking and groaning, the face of the rock opened like a door, gaping blackly. Then, one after another, the three old men entered, and nothing was left but the dull light of their torches, shining on the walls of the passage-way.

  What happened inside the cavern the fagot-maker could neither see nor hear, but minute after minute passed while he sat as in a maze at all that had happened. Then presently he heard a deep thundering voice and a voice as of one of the old men in answer. Then there came a sound swelling louder and louder, as though a great crowd of people were gathering together, and with the voices came the noise of the neighing of horses and the trampling of hoofs. Then at last there came pouring from out the rock a great crowd of horses laden with bales and bundles of rich stuffs and chests and caskets of gold and silver and jewels, and each horse was led by a slave clad in a dress of cloth-of-gold, sparkling and glistening with precious gems. When all these had come out from the cavern, other horses followed, upon each of which sat a beautiful damsel, more lovely than the fancy of man could picture. Beside the damsels marched a guard, each man clad in silver armor, and each bearing a drawn sword that flashed in the brightening day more keenly than the lightning. So they all came pouring forth from the cavern until it seemed as though the whole woods below were filled with the wealth and the beauty of King Solomon’s day — and then, last of all, came the three old men.
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  “In the name of the red Aldebaran,” said he who had bidden the rock to open, “I command thee to become closed.” Again, creaking and groaning, the rock shut as it had opened — like a door — and the three old men, mounting their horses, led the way from the woods, the others following. The noise and confusion of the many voices shouting and calling, the trample and stamp of horses, grew fainter and fainter, until at last all was once more hushed and still, and only the fagot-maker was left behind, still staring like one dumb and bereft of wits.

  But so soon as he was quite sure that all were really gone, he clambered down as quickly as might be. He waited for a while to make doubly sure that no one was left behind, and then he walked straight up to the rock, just as he had seen the old man do. He plucked a switch from the bush, just as he had seen the old man pluck one, and struck the stone, just as the old man had struck it. “I command thee to open,” said he, “in the name of the red Aldebaran!”

  Instantly, as it had done in answer to the old man’s command, there came a creaking and a groaning, and the rock slowly opened like a door, and there was the passageway yawning before him. For a moment or two the fagot-maker hesitated to enter; but all was as still as death, and finally he plucked up courage and went within.

  By this time the day was brightening and the sun rising, and by the gray light the fagot-maker could see about him pretty clearly. Not a sign was to be seen of horses or of treasure or of people — nothing but a square block of marble, and upon it a black casket, and upon that again a gold ring, in which was set a blood-red stone. Beyond these things there was nothing; the walls were bare, the roof was bare, the floor was bare — all was bare and naked stone.

  “Well,” said the wood-chopper, “as the old men have taken everything else, I might as well take these things. The ring is certainly worth something, and maybe I shall be able to sell the casket for a trifle into the bargain.” So he slipped the ring upon his finger, and, taking up the casket, left the place. “I command thee to be closed,” said he, “in the name of the red Aldebaran!” And thereupon the door closed, creaking and groaning.

  After a little while he found his ass, saddled it and bridled it, and loaded it with the bundle of fagots that he had chopped the day before, and then set off again to try to find his way out of the thick woods. But still his luck was against him, and the farther he wandered the deeper he found himself in the thickets. In the meantime he was like to die of hunger, for he had not had a bite to eat for more than a whole day.

  “Perhaps,” said he to himself, “there may be something in the casket to stay my stomach;” and, so saying, he sat him down, unlocked the casket, and raised the lid.

  Such a yell as the poor wretch uttered ears never heard before. Over he rolled upon his back and there lay staring with wide eyes, and away scampered the jackass, kicking up his heels and braying so that the leaves of the trees trembled and shook. For no sooner had he lifted the lid than out leaped a great hideous Genie, as black as a coal, with one fiery-red eye in the middle of his forehead that glared and rolled most horribly, and with his hands and feet set with claws, sharp and hooked like the talons of a hawk. Poor Abdallah the fagot-maker lay upon his back staring at the monster with a face as white as wax.

  “What are thy commands?” said the Genie in a terrible voice, that rumbled like the sound of thunder.

  “I — I do not know,” said Abdallah, trembling and shaking as with an ague. “I — I have forgotten.”

  “Ask what thou wilt,” said the Genie, “for I must ever obey whomsoever hast the ring that thou wearest upon thy finger. Hath my lord nothing to command wherein I may serve him?”

  Abdallah shook his head. “No,” said he, “there is nothing — unless — unless you will bring me something to eat.”

  “To hear is to obey,” said the Genie. “What will my lord be pleased to have?”

  “Just a little bread and cheese,” said Abdallah.

  The Genie waved his hand, and in an instant a fine damask napkin lay spread upon the ground, and upon it a loaf of bread as white as snow and a piece of cheese such as the king would have been glad to taste. But Abdallah could do nothing but sit staring at the Genie, for the sight of the monster quite took away his appetite.

  “What more can I do to serve thee?” asked the Genie.

  “I think,” said Abdallah, “that I could eat more comfortably if you were away.”

  “To hear is to obey,” said the Genie. “Whither shall I go? Shall I enter the casket again?”

  “I do not know,” said the fagot-maker; “how did you come to be there?”

  “I am a great Genie,” answered the monster, “and was conjured thither by the great King Solomon, whose seal it is that thou wearest upon thy finger. For a certain fault that I committed I was confined in the box and hidden in the cavern where thou didst find me to-day. There I lay for thousands of years until one day three old magicians discovered the secret of where I lay hidden. It was they who only this morning compelled me to give them that vast treasure which thou sawest them take away from the cavern not long since.”

  “But why did they not take you and the box and the ring away also?” asked Abdallah.

  “Because,” answered the Genie, “they are three brothers, and neither two care to trust the other one with such power as the ring has to give, so they made a solemn compact among themselves that I should remain in the cavern, and that no one of the three should visit it without the other two in his company. Now, my lord, if it is thy will that I shall enter the casket again I must even obey thy command in that as in all things; but, if it please thee, I would fain rejoin my own kind again — they from whom I have been parted for so long. Shouldst thou permit me to do so I will still be thy slave, for thou hast only to press the red stone in the ring and repeat these words: ‘By the red Aldebaran, I command thee to come,’ and I will be with thee instantly. But if I have my freedom I shall serve thee from gratitude and love, and not from compulsion and with fear.”

  “So be it!” said Abdallah. “I have no choice in the matter, and thou mayest go whither it pleases thee.”

  No sooner had the words left his lips than the Genie gave a great cry of rejoicing, so piercing that it made Abdallah’s flesh creep, and then, fetching the black casket a kick that sent it flying over the tree tops, vanished instantly.

  “Well,” quoth Abdallah, when he had caught his breath from his amazement, “these are the most wonderful things that have happened to me in all of my life.” And thereupon he fell to at the bread and cheese, and ate as only a hungry man can eat. When he had finished the last crumb he wiped his mouth with the napkin, and, stretching his arms, felt within him that he was like a new man.

  Nevertheless, he was still lost in the woods, and now not even with his ass for comradeship.

  He had wandered for quite a little while before he bethought himself of the Genie. “What a fool am I,” said he, “not to have asked him to help me while he was here.” He pressed his finger upon the ring, and cried in a loud voice, “By the red Aldebaran, I command thee to come!”

  Instantly the Genie stood before him — big, black, ugly, and grim. “What are my lord’s commands?” said he.

  “I command thee,” said Abdallah the fagot-maker, who was not half so frightened at the sight of the monster this time as he had been before— “I command thee to help me out of this woods.”

  Hardly were the words out of his mouth when the Genie snatched Abdallah up, and, flying swifter than the lightning, set him down in the middle of the highway on the outskirts of the forest before he had fairly caught his breath.

  When he did gather his wits and looked about him, he knew very well where he was, and that he was upon the road that led to the city. At the sight his heart grew light within him, and off he stepped briskly for home again.

  But the sun shone hot and the way was warm and dusty, and before Abdallah had gone very far the sweat was running down his face in streams. After a while he met a rich husbandm
an riding easily along on an ambling nag, and when Abdallah saw him he rapped his head with his knuckles. “Why did I not think to ask the Genie for a horse?” said he. “I might just as well have ridden as to have walked, and that upon a horse a hundred times more beautiful than the one that that fellow rides.”

  He stepped into the thicket beside the way, where he might be out of sight, and there pressed the stone in his ring, and at his bidding the Genie stood before him.

  “What are my lord’s commands?” said he.

  “I would like to have a noble horse to ride upon,” said Abdallah— “a horse such as a king might use.”

  “To hear is to obey,” said the Genie; and, stretching out his hand, there stood before Abdallah a magnificent Arab horse, with a saddle and bridle studded with precious stones, and with housings of gold. “Can I do aught to serve my lord further?” said the Genie.

  “Not just now,” said Abdallah; “if I have further use for you I will call you.”

  The Genie bowed his head and was gone like a flash, and Abdallah mounted his horse and rode off upon his way. But he had not gone far before he drew rein suddenly. “How foolish must I look,” said he, “to be thus riding along the high-road upon this noble steed, and I myself clad in fagot-maker’s rags.” Thereupon he turned his horse into the thicket and again summoned the Genie. “I should like,” said he, “to have a suit of clothes fit for a king to wear.”