Murad the Unlucky and Other Tales | Page 4

following May. The fourth wife, at first objected to, was
young enough to be a companion and friend, and between her and
Maria Edgeworth a fast friendship came to be established. In the year
of her father's fourth marriage Maria joined him in the production of
two volumes on "Practical Education." Then followed books for
children, including "Harry and Lucy," which had been begun by her
father years before in partnership with his second wife, when Thomas
Day began writing "Sandford and Merton," with the original intention
that it should be worked in as a part of the whole scheme.
In the year 1800 Miss Edgeworth, thirty-three years old, began her
independent career as a novelist with "Castle Rackrent;" and from that
time on, work followed work in illustration of the power of a woman of
genius to associate quick wit and quick feeling with sound sense and a
good reason for speaking. Sir Walter Scott in his frank way declared
that he received an impulse from Miss Edgeworth's example as a
storyteller. In the general preface to his own final edition of the
Waverley Novels he said that "Without being so presumptuous as to
hope to emulate the rich humour, pathetic tenderness, and admirable
tact, which pervade the works of my accomplished friend, I felt that
something might be attempted for my own country of the same kind

with that which Miss Edgeworth so fortunately achieved for
Ireland--something which might introduce her natives to those of the
sister kingdom in a more favourable light than they had been placed
hitherto, and tend to procure sympathy for their virtues and indulgence
for their foibles."
Of the three stories in this volume, who--"Murad the Unlucky" and
"The Limerick Gloves"--first appeared in three volumes of "Popular
Tales," which were first published in 1804, with a short introduction by
Miss Edgeworth's father. "Madame de Fleury" was written a few years
later.
H. M.

MURAD THE UNLUCKY

CHAPTER I

It is well known that the grand seignior amuses himself by going at
night, in disguise, through streets of Constantinople; as the caliph
Haroun Alraschid used formerly to do in Bagdad.
One moonlight night, accompanied by his grand vizier, he traversed
several of the principal streets of the city without seeing anything
remarkable. At length, as they were passing a rope- maker's, the sultan
recollected the Arabian story of Cogia-Hassan Alhabal, the rope-maker,
and his two friends, Saad and Saadi, who differed so much in their
opinion concerning the influence of fortune over human affairs.
"What is your opinion on this subject?" said the grand seignior to his
vizier.
"I am inclined, please your majesty," replied the vizier, "to think that
success in the world depends more upon prudence than upon what is
called luck, or fortune."
"And I," said the sultan, "am persuaded that fortune does more for men
than prudence. Do you not every day hear of persons who are said to be
fortunate or unfortunate? How comes it that this opinion should prevail
amongst men, if it be not justified by experience?"
"It is not for me to dispute with your majesty," replied the prudent

vizier.
"Speak your mind freely; I desire and command it," said the sultan.
"Then I am of opinion," answered the vizier, "that people are often led
to believe others fortunate, or unfortunate, merely because they only
know the general outline of their histories; and are ignorant of the
incidents and events in which they have shown prudence or imprudence.
I have heard, for instance, that there are at present, in this city, two men,
who are remarkable for their good and bad fortune: one is called Murad
the Unlucky, and the other Saladin the Lucky. Now, I am inclined to
think, if we could hear their stories, we should find that one is a prudent
and the other an imprudent character."
"Where do these men live?" interrupted the sultan. "I will hear their
histories from their own lips before I sleep."
"Murad the Unlucky lives in the next square," said the vizier.
The sultan desired to go thither immediately. Scarcely had they entered
the square, when they heard the cry of loud lamentations. They
followed the sound till they came to a house of which the door was
open, and where there was a man tearing his turban, and weeping
bitterly. They asked the cause of his distress, and he pointed to the
fragments of a china vase, which lay on the pavement at his door.
"This seems undoubtedly to be beautiful china," said the sultan, taking
up one of the broken pieces; "but can the loss of a china vase be the
cause of such violent grief and despair?"
"Ah, gentlemen," said the owner of the vase, suspending his
lamentations, and looking at the dress