Tales of the Caravan, Inn, and Palace Part 1

Tales of the Caravan, Inn, and Palace.

by William Hauff.

PREFACE.

In introducing to American readers these charming and unique Tales, a few details may properly be given of their author's life and literary work. The record, though brief, is one of unusual interest.

Wilhelm Hauff was born at Stuttgart, Germany, in 1802, and received his education at Tuebingen. He graduated from the University, in 1824, with the degree of Doctor of Philosophy; and for the following two years filled the position of tutor in a n.o.bleman's family. It was during the leisure hours afforded by this occupation that he composed the greater part of the works upon which his fame rests. In 1826 he published his "_Maerchenalmanach auf das Jahr 1826, fuer Soehne und Toechter gebildeter Staende_," a translation of which is herewith tendered the American public, under the changed and abbreviated t.i.tle of: "Tales of the Caravan, Inn, and Palace." In the same year, and closely following the "Fairy Tales," came "_Mittheilungen aus den Memoiren des Satan_,"

"_Der Mann im Monde_," a second volume of "Satan's Memoirs," and a collection of short tales. These volumes appeared in such rapid succession as to obscure for a time the brilliancy of the "Fairy Tales;" but later editions of them acquired a widespread circulation, while their popularity is so constantly on the increase as to suggest the thought that in time they may prove a formidable rival of the "Arabian Nights," in the regards of the young, the world over.

The publication of "The Man in the Moon" gave Hauff a national reputation; but when his "_Lichtenstein, eine romantische Sage_"

appeared, shortly afterward, the Wuertembergers hailed him as the coming Walter Scott of Germany. Whether he would have merited this fond and proud prediction of his countrymen, can not now be told. We only know that he seemed to recognize in the historical novel his true field of labor, and that he had already begun a second work of this nature, when he sickened and died, in the Fall of 1827, before he had reached his twenty-fifth birthday.

Hauff stood on the threshold of his career as an author, in the dawning glory of his brilliant talents, when he was stricken down; yet his writings betray no sign of immaturity, and his collected works a.s.sure him a niche, high in the temple of literature. The art of investing localities with ideal characters who, in the reader's imagination, haunt the spot forever after, was a gift Hauff shared alike with his English brothers, Scott and d.i.c.kens. On crossing the Bridge of Arts, in Paris, at night, one familiar with his works is apt to look about for the tall and graceful form of the "Beggar Girl," with her lantern, and the plate held out so reluctantly for coins. Or, if he wander through the rugged Suabian Alps, Hauff's "_Lichtenstein_" will be the guide-book he consults; and through the valleys and over the hills to the _Nebelhoehle_ he will trace the flight of the stern Duke Ulerich, pausing maybe at the little village of Hardt to pick out if possible the piper's home, and to look sharply at every village maid, lest the kind-hearted little "Baerbele" should pa.s.s him unawares.

Some of Hauff's poems became quite popular in Germany, and several of his songs may be heard to-day rising on the evening air from out the beautiful valleys he loved so well.

Because of his genius and his early death, Hauff becomes a.s.sociated in our mind with the English poets, Chatterton, Keats and Sh.e.l.ley; and in thinking of him we recall his own sad words--

"Oh, how soon Vanish grace and beauty's bloom; Dost thou boast of cheeks ne'er paling, Glowing red and white unfailing?

See! the roses wither all!"

Chicago, _October_, 1881. E. L. S.

PART I.

TALES OF THE CARAVAN.

THE CARAVAN,

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Once upon a time, a large caravan moved slowly over the desert. On the vast plain, where nothing was to be seen but sand and sky, might have been heard in the far distance the tinkling bells of the camels and the ringing hoof beats of horses. A thick cloud of dust that moved before it indicated the approach of the caravan; and when a breeze parted this cloud, gleaming weapons and brilliantly colored garments dazzled the eye.

Thus was the caravan revealed to a man who galloped towards it from one side. He rode a fine Arabian horse, covered with a tiger skin; from the deep-red trappings depended little silver bells, while on the horse's head waved a plume of heron feathers. The horseman was of stately bearing, and his attire corresponded in richness with that of his horse. A white turban, richly embroidered with gold, covered his head; his coat and Turkish trousers were of scarlet; while a curved sword, with a rich hilt, hung at his side. He had pulled the turban down well over his face; and this, with the black eyes that flashed from beneath the bushy brows, together with the long beard that hung straight down from his Roman nose, gave him a fierce and uncouth appearance.

When the rider had approached to within about fifty paces of the vanguard of the caravan, he spurred his horse forward, and in a few moments reached the head of the procession. It was such an unusual occurrence to see a single horseman riding over the desert that the escort of the train, fearing an attack, thrust out their spears.

"What do you mean?" cried the horseman, as he saw this warlike reception. "Do you, then, believe a single man would attack your caravan?"

Ashamed of their momentary alarm, the escort dropped their lances; while their leader rode up to the stranger and asked what he wanted.

"Who is the master of this caravan?" inquired the horseman.

"It does not belong to one man," replied the guide; "but to several merchants who are returning from Mecca to their homes, and whom we escort across the desert, as it often happens that travelers are annoyed by robbers."

"Then lead me to these merchants," requested the stranger.

"That may not be done now," replied the guide, "as we must proceed farther on before coming to a halt, and the merchants are at least a quarter of an hour behind us; but if you will ride on with me until we encamp for our mid-day rest, I will then comply with your wish."

The stranger made no reply, but produced a pipe that was fastened to his saddle-bow, and began to smoke, meanwhile riding near the leader of the vanguard. The guide knew not what to make of the stranger; he hardly dared to question him directly as to his name, and no matter how skillfully he sought to draw him into conversation, the stranger would only reply to such attempts as: "You smoke a fine quality of tobacco,"

or, "Your horse has a splendid pace," with a short "Yes, certainly."

Finally they reached the spot where they were to camp for the noon. The guide posted the guards, but remained himself with the stranger until the caravan should come up. Thirty camels, heavily laden, and attended by armed guards, pa.s.sed by. After these came the four merchants to whom the caravan belonged, mounted on fine horses. They were mostly men of advanced age, of sober and staid appearance. Only one seemed much younger than the others, and of more cheerful countenance and vivacious spirits. A large number of camels and pack-horses completed the caravan.

The tents were pitched, and the horses and camels ranged around them in a circle. In the centre stood a tent of blue silk cloth. To this tent the leader of the guard led the stranger. As they entered through the curtain, they saw the four merchants sitting on gold embroidered cushions, while black slaves handed them food and drink.

"Who is it you bring to us?" cried the young merchant to the guide.

Before the guide could reply, the stranger said--

"My name is Selim Baruch, of Bagdad. On my way to Mecca I was captured by a robber band, and three days ago I succeeded in making my escape from them. The great Prophet permitted me to hear the bells of your camels in the distance, and thus directed me to you. Allow me to journey in your company. Your protection would not be extended to one unworthy of it; and when you reach Bagdad, I will richly reward your kindness, as I am the nephew of the Grand Vizier."

The oldest merchant made reply: "Selim Baruch, you are welcome to our shelter. It gives us pleasure to a.s.sist you. But first of all, sit down and eat and drink with us."

Selim Baruch accepted this invitation. On the conclusion of the repast, the slaves cleared away the dishes, and brought long pipes and Turkish sherbet. The merchants sat silently watching the blue clouds of smoke as they formed into rings and finally vanished in the air.

The young merchant at length broke the silence by saying--

"For three days we have sat thus on horseback and at table without making any attempt to while away the time. To me this is very wearisome, as I have always been accustomed after dinner to see a dancer or to hear music and singing. Can you think of nothing, my friends, to pa.s.s away the time?"

The three older merchants continued to smoke, seemingly lost in meditation, but the stranger said--

"Permit me to make a proposition. It is that at every camping-place one of us shall relate a story to the others. This might serve to make the time pa.s.s pleasantly."

"You are right, Selim Baruch," said one of the merchants, "let us act on the proposal."

"I am glad the suggestion meets with your approval," said Selim; "but that you may see I ask nothing unfair, I will be the first to begin."

The merchants drew nearer together in pleased antic.i.p.ation, and had the stranger sit in the centre. The slaves replenished the cups and filled the pipes of their masters, and brought glowing coals to light them.

Then Selim cleared his voice with a generous gla.s.s of sherbet, stroked the long beard away from his mouth, and said--

"Listen, then, to the story of the Caliph Stork."

THE CALIPH STORK.

I.