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             THE
           ORIENTAL
         STORY BOOK.

    A COLLECTION OF TALES.


 TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF
        WILHELM HAUFF,


     BY G. P. QUACKENBOS.


  ILLUSTRATED BY J. W. ORR.


          NEW YORK:
   D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
     346 & 348 BROADWAY.
            1855.




[Illustration]




    OF NEW ORLEANS

    IN REMEMBRANCE OF A LONG FRIENDSHIP,

    AND MANY HAPPY HOURS SPENT WITH HIM OVER THE

    GERMAN CLASSICS,

    THIS LITTLE VOLUME

    IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.




THE CARAVAN.

INTRODUCTION.


In a beautiful distant kingdom, of which there is a saying, that the
sun on its everlasting green gardens never goes down, ruled, from the
beginning of time even to the present day, Queen Phantasie. With full
hands, she used to distribute for many hundred years, the abundance of
her blessings among her subjects, and was beloved and respected by all
who knew her. The heart of the Queen, however, was too great to allow
her to stop at her own land with her charities; she herself, in the
royal attire of her everlasting youth and beauty, descended upon the
earth; for she had heard that there men lived, who passed their lives
in sorrowful seriousness, in the midst of care and toil. Unto these
she had sent the finest gifts out of her kingdom, and ever since the
beauteous Queen came through the fields of earth, men were merry at
their labor, and happy in their seriousness.

Her children, moreover, not less fair and lovely than their royal
mother, she had sent forth to bring happiness to men. One day
Maerchen[A], the eldest daughter of the Queen, came back in haste from
the earth. The mother observed that Maerchen was sorrowful; yes, at
times it would seem to her as if her eyes would be consumed by
weeping.

"What is the matter with thee, beloved Maerchen?" said the Queen to
her. "Ever since thy journey, thou art so sorrowful and dejected; wilt
thou not confide to thy mother what ails thee?"

"Ah! dear mother," answered Maerchen, "I would have kept silence, had I
not known that my sorrow is thine also."

"Speak, my daughter!" entreated the fair Queen. "Grief is a stone,
which presses down him who bears it alone, but two draw it lightly out
of the way."

"Thou wishest it," rejoined Maerchen, "so listen. Thou knowest how
gladly I associate with men, how cheerfully I sit down before the huts
of the poor, to while away a little hour for them after their labor;
formerly, when I came, they used to ask me kindly for my hand to
salute, and looked upon me afterwards, when I went away, smiling and
contented; but in these days, it is so no longer!"

"Poor Maerchen!" said the Queen as she caressed her cheek, which was
wet with a tear. "But, perhaps, thou only fanciest all this."

"Believe me, I feel it but too well," rejoined Maerchen; "they love me
no more. Wherever I go, cold looks meet me; nowhere am I any more
gladly seen; even the children, who ever loved me so well, laugh at
me, and slyly turn their backs upon me."

The Queen leaned her forehead on her hand, and was silent in
reflection. "And how, then, Maerchen," she asked, "should it happen
that the people there below have become so changed?"

"See, O Queen Phantasie! men have stationed vigilant watchmen, who
inspect and examine all that comes from thy kingdom, with sharp eyes.
