The story of the false prince

ing to submit to his judgment, and to recognize the son he had chosen; asking in return but one condition. The sultan, who was sorry for the anger he had shown his wife, granted her request, and she said: “I should dearly like to receive from both of these claimants a test of their cleverness. Another person might very likely have them ride, fight, or throw spears; but these are things that everybody can do, and I will give them something that will require ingenuity to accomplish. Each one shall make a kaftan, and a pair of trousers, and then we shall see who will make the finest.”
The sultan laughed, and said: “Well, you have devised something extremely wise! The idea that my son should compete with your crazy tailor at coat-making? No, it won`t do.”
The sultana, however, insisted that he was bound by the promise he had made her in advance; and the sultan, who was a man of his word, finally consented, although he swore that let the crazy tailor make his coat ever so fine, he would never admit him to be his son.
The sultan went in person to his son, and requested him to humor the caprice of his mother, who very much wished for a kaftan made by his hands. Labakan was greatly pleased. If that is all that is wanted, thought he to himself, then madame the sultana will soon have cause to be proud of me.
Two rooms were prepared, one for the prince, the other for the tailor, where they were to try their skill; and they were liberally provided with silk cloth, scissors, needles and thread.
The sultan was very curious to see what sort of a thing his son would bring to light for a kaftan; while the sultana was very nervous lest her stratagem should fail. Two days had been given to them in which to accomplish their task. On the morning of the third day, the sultan sent for his wife, and when she had come, he sent into the two rooms for the two kaftans and their makers.
Labakan entered triumphantly, and spread his kaftan before the astonished eyes of the sultan. “Look here, father!” said he, “see, honored mother, whether this is not a master-piece of a kaftan? I would be willing to lay a wager with the cleverest court tailor that he could not produce such an one as that.”
The sultana smiled, and turned to Omar: “And what have you produced, my son?” Impatiently he threw down the silk, cloth and scissors on the floor. “I was brought up to break horses, and to the use of a sword, and my spear will hit the mark at sixty paces; but the science of the needle is strange to me, and would have been an unworthy study for a pupil of Elsi Bey, the ruler of Cairo!”
“O thou true son of my heart!” exclaimed the sultana. “Now, I can embrace thee, and call thee son! Pardon me, my Husband and Lord,” continued she, turning to the sultan, “that I have plotted this stratagem against you. Do you not now see which is the prince, and which the tailor? Truly, the kaftan that your son has made is superb, and I should like to ask him of what master he learned his trade.”
The sultan sat in deep thought, glancing suspiciously now at his wife and now at Labakan, who vainly tried to control his blushes and his discomfiture at having so stupidly betrayed himself.
“Even this proof will not suffice,” said the sultan. “But praised be Allah, I know of a means of finding out whether I have been deceived or not.”
He ordered his fastest horse to be led out, swung himself into the saddle, and rode into a forest near by, where lived, according to an old legend, a kind fairy named Adolzaide, who had often stood by the kings of his race with her counsel in the hour of need.
In the middle of the forest was an open place surrounded by tall cedars. There lived–so the story ran–the fairy, and it was seldom that a mortal ventured there, as a certain aversion to the spot had for ages descended from father to son.
Arriving there, the sultan dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, placed himself in the centre of the opening, and called out in a loud voice: “If it be true that you have given my ancestors good advice in the hour of need, then do not spurn the prayer of their grandson, and give me advice on a point for which human understanding is too frail.”
He had hardly spoken the last word, when one of the cedars opened, and a veiled lady, in long white garments, stepped forth. “I know why you come to me, Sultan Saaud. Your purpose is just; therefore, you shall have my assistance. Take these two little boxes. Let each of the young men who claim to be your son choose between these. I know that the true prince will not fail to pick out the right one.” Thus spake the fairy, at the same time handing him two little ivory boxes richly set with gold and pearls. On the lid, which the sultan vainly tried to open, were inscriptions in diamond letters.
The sultan tried to think as he rode home what these little boxes might contain; but all his efforts to open them failed. Nor did the inscriptions throw any light on the matter, for one read–Honor and Fame; the other–Fortune and Riches. The sultan thought to himself that he would have great difficulty in making a choice between these two things, that were alike desirable, alike alluring.
On arriving at his palace, he sent for the sultana, and told her of the verdict of the fairy. A strange hope assured the sultana that he to whom her heart drew her would choose the box that should make plain his royal descent.
Two tables were placed before the throne of the sultan, upon which the king placed the boxes with his own hand. He then ascended the throne, and beckoned one of his slaves to open the doors of the salon. A brilliant assembly of pashas and emirs of the realm, whom the sultan had summoned, streamed through the opened doors. They took their places on splendid cushions that were ranged lengthwise along the wall.
When they were all seated, the sultan beckoned a second time, and Labakan was brought forward. With a proud step he walked up the hall, prostrated himself before the throne, and said: “What are the commands of my Lord and Father?”
The sultan rose from his throne, and said: “My son, doubts have been raised as to the justness of your claim to this name; one of those little boxes contains the proof of your real parentage. Choose; I do not doubt that you will select the right one.”
Labakan arose and stepped up to the tables, hesitated for some time as to which he should choose, but finally said: “Honored Father! What can be higher than the fortune to be your son? what nobler than the riches of thy grace? I choose the box with the inscription–Fortune and Riches.”
“We shall presently know whether you have chosen the right one; in the meantime sit down on the cushion by the side of the Pasha of Medina,” said the sultan, and motioned to a slave.
Omar was brought forward. His look was gloomy, his air sad, and his appearance created universal interest among those present. He prostrated himself before the throne, and inquired after the commands of the sultan. The sultan signified to him that he was to choose one of the little boxes. Omar arose and approached the tables.
He read attentively both inscriptions, and then said: “The last few days have taught me how fickle is fortune, how unstable are riches; but they have also learned me that an indestructible gift dwells in the breast of Honor, and that the shining star of Fame does not vanish with fortune. And though I should renounce a crown, the die is cast: Honor and Fame, I choose you!”
He placed his hand on the box he had chosen; but the sultan ordered him to wait a moment, and beckoned Labakan to come forward, and lay his hand on his box also. Then the sultan had a basin of water, of the holy fountain of Zemzem in Mecca, brought, washed his hands for prayer, turned his face to the East, prostrated himself and prayed: “God of my fathers! Thou who for centuries hast preserved our race pure and uncontaminated, do not permit that an unworthy one should bring to shame the name of the Abasside; be near my true son with Thy protection, in this hour of trial!”
The sultan arose, and once more ascended his throne. Universal expectancy held those present in breathless attention; one could have heard a mouse run over the floor, so still were they all. Those farthest away stretched their necks to look over the heads of those in front, that they might see the little boxes. Then the sultan spoke: “Open the boxes!” and although no force could have opened them before, they now flew open of themselves.
In the box chosen by Omar lay, on a velvet cushion, a small golden crown, and a sceptre; in Labakan`s box–a large needle and a little package of thread! The sultan ordered them to bring their boxes to him. He took the miniature crown in his hand, and wonderful was it to see how, as he took it, it began to grow larger and larger until it had attained the size of a genuine crown. He placed the crown on the head of Omar, who knelt before him, kissed him on the forehead, and bade him sit at his right hand. Then turning to Labakan, he said: “There is an old proverb that the shoemaker should stick to his last. It looks as if you should stick to the needle. To be sure, you do not deserve my pardon; but some one has interceded for you, to whom I can refuse nothing to-day; therefore I spare you your miserable life. But, to give you some good advice–you had better make haste to get out of my kingdom.”
Ashamed, ruined as were all his pretensions, the poor journeyman-tailor could not reply. He threw himself at the feet of the prince, in tears. “Can you forgive me, Prince?” said he.
“Loyalty to a friend, magnanimity to a foe, is the boast of the Abasside,” replied the prince, as he raised him up. “Go in peace!”
“Oh, my true son!” cried the aged sultan, with deep emotion, and sank on the breast of Omar. The emirs and pashas, and all the nobility of the kingdom, rose from their seats, and cried: “Hail to the new son of the king!” and amidst the universal joy, Labakan stole out of t…