The third friend too was alarmed, and he agreed with the fool and deserted his friend. And whoever and whatever was praised in the fool’s presence, he had the same retort for everything. Sometimes he would add reproachfully: ‘And do you still believe in authorities?’ ‘Spiteful! malignant!’ his friends began to say of the fool. ‘But what a brain!’ ‘And what a tongue!’ others would add, ‘Oh, yes, he has talent!’ It ended in the editor of a journal proposing to the fool that he should undertake their reviewing column. And the fool fell to criticising everything and every one, without in the least changing his manner, or his exclamations. Now he, who once declaimed against authorities, is himself an authority, and the young men venerate him, and fear him. And what else can they do, poor young men? Though one ought not, as a general rule, to venerate any one ... but in this case, if one didn’t venerate him, one would find oneself quite behind the times! Fools have a good time among cowards. _April 1878._ AN EASTERN LEGEND Who in Bagdad knows not Jaffar, the Sun of the Universe? One day, many years ago (he was yet a youth), Jaffar was walking in the environs of Bagdad. Suddenly a hoarse cry reached his ear; some one was calling desperately for help. Jaffar was distinguished among the young men of his age by prudence and sagacity; but his heart was compassionate, and he relied on his strength. He ran at the cry, and saw an infirm old man, pinned to the city wall by two brigands, who were robbing him. Jaffar drew his sabre and fell upon the miscreants: one he killed, the other he drove away. The old man thus liberated fell at his deliverer’s feet, and, kissing the hem of his garment, cried: ‘Valiant youth, your magnanimity shall not remain unrewarded. In appearance I am a poor beggar; but only in appearance. I am not a common man. Come to-morrow in the early morning to the chief bazaar; I will await you at the fountain, and you shall be convinced of the truth of my words.’ Jaffar thought: ‘In appearance this man is a beggar, certainly; but all sorts of things happen. Why not put it to the test?’ and he answered: ‘Very well, good father; I will come.’ The old man looked into his face, and went away. The next morning, the sun had hardly risen, Jaffar went to the bazaar. The old man was already awaiting him, leaning with his elbow on the marble basin of the fountain. In silence he took Jaffar by the hand and led him into a small garden, enclosed on all sides by high walls. In the very middle of this garden, on a green lawn, grew an extraordinary-looking tree. It was like a cypress; only its leaves were of an azure hue. Three fruits--three apples--hung on the slender upward-bent twigs; one was of middle size, long-shaped, and milk-white; the second, large, round, bright-red; the third, small, wrinkled, yellowish.