Chapter VI: Part 6

According to the plan set forth for the Dervish's undoing Bedr-el-Budur ordered her slave girls to prepare everything of jewels and bright attire, ready for a rapid toilet. Then, when the Dervish appeared, she sat weeping as usual, and it was not until, in his protestations of love, he said words that were suitable to her purpose that she paused and half dried her tears as if it needed little more to make her weigh his petition with care. Observing this he drew near and sat by her side, and now, though no longer weeping, she had not yet found words for him. He took her hand, but she snatched it away crying, "No, it cannot be! Never can I forget Aladdin!" He pleaded with her, and his passion made him eloquent. He showed her the uselessness of longing for a dead man when a living one was by her side. He told her too--and with the Lamp in his bosom she could not doubt the truth of it--that he and she could command the earth and look down on kings. Why had he not already won this as well as her love by means of the Lamp? Because he had pledged himself to wait and win her as a man wins woman. At this she turned her face to him on a sudden. A faint smile seemed to live in the corners of her bewitching mouth, and a look in her eyes convinced him that he was a much better man than he had thought since he could keep his pledge on so great a matter. On this, he drew still nearer to the lovely Bedr-el-Budur, and this time she did not snatch her hand away, but left it in his, pondering dreamily the while. Presently, on a sudden, she pushed him away petulantly. "Nay, nay," she cried, "I cannot rein my heart to thee at will. Give me, I pray thee, a little space of time--two days; and when my eyes are dim with weeping for Aladdin--" "Two days? Alas!" broke in the Dervish, "two days is a lifetime." "_One_ day--I may decide in one, if weeping do not kill me." The Dervish smote his breast, "_One_ day! one _hour_ is the limit of my life. Think, O Lovely One, how I have waited to win thee as man wins woman, when in a moment I could call thee mine by other means." And his hand moved to his bosom where lay the Lamp. "Stay!" she cried, rising and standing before him. "Thy pledge! My decision is not yet. Having waited so long, surely thou canst wait another--" "Day? say not that." "Well then, at least, another hour." And, flashing a look upon him that might hold his wits in thrall for that space of time, she turned to leave the apartment. "I go to weep," she said, throwing him a backward glance, "and my tears perchance will be for Aladdin, perchance for thee if I cannot bend my heart from him. Abide thou in patience. I will come to thee in one hour."

So she went, leaving the Dervish in an ecstasy of doubt. Time, times passed over his head as he sat weighing the issue, and yet he smiled to himself, for he knew that the Lady Bedr-el-Budur would sooner compel herself than be compelled by the Slave of the Lamp. And he was right. At the expiration of the hour the door opened and she stood before him a vision of loveliness in resplendent attire bedecked with priceless jewels. A smile was on her face and her answer to him was in her eyes. Yet, as he darted forward, her manner of approach showed him that, although he had won her, she was a surrendering princess demanding in her condescension a fitting control--even homage--from him. Having convinced him of this, she seated herself by his side and said boldly, "Thou seest how it is with me. My tears for Aladdin--who is dead--flowed till the hour was half spent; then, I know not why, they changed to tears of joy for thee, who art alive. Then I arose and arrayed myself gladly and came to thee. Yet even now I am not wholly thine, for tears--now grief now joy, I know not which--contend in mine eyes for him or thee. Wherefore come not too near me lest what thou hast won be forfeited. Perchance if we sup together with a jar of the red wine of thine own country--in which it may be that my soul will taste thine--then, who knows--" "O my life's delight," broke in the Dervish. "A jar of red wine and thee! I have many jars in my house, and, not forgetting that tears contend in thine eyes as thou saidst, I will go and return in all haste with the reddest wine." "Nay, go not thyself," said Bedr-el-Budur, bethinking her of the Lamp. "Do not leave me. One of my slave girls will go. My tears have dried in my heart, leaving it thirsty for love." And the Dervish was cajoled, and he remained while a slave girl went forth for the wine.

While she was gone Bedr-el-Budur pretended to busy herself issuing orders to the household about the preparation of supper. And under cover of this she sought and found Aladdin. "It is well," she said as he held her to his heart and pressed his lips to hers. "But, O my beloved," he replied, "art thou sure that the Lamp is in his bosom?" "I will go and see," she answered. And she returned to the Dervish and, approaching him shyly, began to doubt the truth of this great thing--his love for her. As she did this she placed her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes; whereat the Dervish drew her close to him and she felt the Lamp in his bosom. Immediately she wrenched herself free and left him with a glance in which disdain and love were kindly mixed. "It is so," she said on returning to Aladdin, "the Lamp is in his bosom, and, since he embraced me--I could not help it nor could I endure it, beloved--it is a wonder the Slave of the Lamp did not appear to see how I tore myself away, I was pressed so close."

Meanwhile the slave girl returned with the wine, and, supper being ready, Bedr-el-Budur invited the Dervish to sit by her at the table. And when they had eaten somewhat, she paused and questioned him with a glance. It was for him to call for wine, and he did so. Immediately a slave girl filled their goblets, and they drank; and another and another until the distance between them was melted, and they became, so to speak, the best of boon companions. And he drank to her and she to him, and her tongue was loosed and she bewitched him with her charming eloquence of speech. But with it all was the dignity of the Princess, which repelled while it attracted. In this subtle manner she fanned his passion to a flame until his heart rocked and his head swam, and all else but her was as nothing in his eyes.

At length, when the supper was drawing to an end, and the wits of the Dervish were well mastered by wine, Bedr-el-Budur leaned towards him in an unbending mood. "This wine of thine has set me on fire, beloved!" she said. "But one more cup and then, if I say thee nay, do not believe me, for thou hast kept thy pledge and hast won me as man wins woman. And this shall be a loving cup, for it is the fashion in my country for the lover to take the loved one's cup and drink it." "O lovely one of my eye," he replied, "I will honour thy custom, since thou hast so greatly honoured _me_."

At this Bedr-el-Budur took his cup and filled it for herself, while a slave girl, who knew what to do as well as she hated the Dervish, handed him the cup which, though it contained the benj, she had just filled as if for her mistress. She even had to be told twice that it was not for her mistress but for the guest. So the Dervish took it, and felt for one moment like the conqueror of worlds and the Lord of two Horns as he looked into the eyes of Bedr-el-Budur brimming with love. But only for a moment. They drank, and immediately the Dervish fell senseless at her feet, while the cup, flung from his nerveless hand, clattered across the floor.

In the space of moments Aladdin was on the spot. Bedr-el-Budur's arms were round his neck, and she was sobbing on his breast, while the Dervish lay stretched helpless before them. "Come, come," said Aladdin, smoothing her raven hair, "thou hast succeeded: wherefore weep? Thou art the cleverest of women. Go now with the maidens, and leave me here with this accursed." And when he had comforted her she went, and the slave girls with her. Then Aladdin locked the door, and, approaching the Dervish, drew the Lamp from his bosom. This done, he stood over him and swore a fearful oath, then, without further shrift, he drew his sword and hewed off his head, after which he drove the point of the sword through his heart, for only in this way can a wizard be warned off the realm of mortals. And when the sword pierced the heart the look of hate on the upturned face of the wizard died out, and he was gone--for ever.

Once in possession of the Lamp Aladdin lost no time. He rubbed it and immediately the Slave appeared. "I am here, O my master; what is thy wish?" "Thou knowest," replied Aladdin. "Bear this palace and all that is in it to the Land of Cathay and set it down on the spot from which thou didst take it at the command of that." He pointed to the dismembered wizard. "It is well," said the Slave, who served the living and not the dead; "I hear and obey, on the head and the eye." Then Aladdin returned to Bedr-el-Budur, and, in the space of one kiss of love, the palace with all therein was carried swiftly back to the original site from which it had been taken.

When Aladdin and Bedr-el-Budur looked forth and saw the lights in the windows of the Sultan's palace they were overcome with joy. They feasted and drank and made merry far into the night. They kissed and embraced, and kissed again. And when Aladdin had told her all the wretchedness of his losing her she wept, saying it was nothing to what she had endured. Then Aladdin made her narrate her way with the wizard, point by point, till he exclaimed, laughing, that a woman's way in such was more than a man could compass in a thousand years. And so, full of delight for to-day and anticipation of joy for to-morrow, they rose and went hand in hand to rest--those lovers reunited. Thus it was with Aladdin and Bedr-el-Budur.

Now the Sultan was in grievous mood ever since the loss of his daughter--the apple of his eye. All night long he would weep, and, arising at dawn, would look forth on the empty space where once had stood Aladdin's palace. Then his tears would flow as from a woman's eyes, for Bedr-el-Budur was very dear to him. But, when he looked forth one morning and saw the palace standing as it had stood, he was rapt with joy. Instantly he ordered his horse, and, mounting, rode to the gates. Aladdin came out to greet him, and, taking him by the hand with never a word, led him towards the apartments of Bedr-el-Budur. She too, radiant with joy, was running to meet him. Like a bird of the air she flew to his arms, and for some moments neither of them could say a word for very happiness. Then in a torrent of words, she told him all about the accursed Dervish; how by his sorcery he had conveyed the palace to Africa, and how Aladdin had slain him, thus releasing the spell and restoring everything to its place. But not a word did she say about the Lamp and its virtues. And the Sultan turned to Aladdin as if he might add something to the tale. But Aladdin had nothing to add save that he had outwitted the Dervish and reversed his sorcery by cutting off his damnable head and plunging his sword through his heart. Then they arose and went to the chamber which contained the trunk and severed head of the Dervish. And, by the Sultans orders, these remains of the Sorcerer were burnt to ashes and scattered to the four winds of heaven.

And so Aladdin was restored to the Sultan's favour, and he and the Lady Bedr-el-Budur dwelt together in the utmost joy and happiness. And Aladdin guarded the Lamp with the greatest care, but, at the wish of Bedr-el-Budur, he refrained from seeking to it. "Let well alone, my beloved," she said; "there is no happiness for us in commanding everything at will. Besides, we are grateful to the Lamp for what it has done for us; any more is of sorcery." And Aladdin smiled to himself as he recognised the wisdom of a woman. Never did he gainsay her words. Never again did he rub the Lamp.

Time, times, and the Sultan died. Then Aladdin sat on the throne, and ruled the land wisely and well. And the people, with one heart, loved him and his Queen Bedr-el-Budur; and the realm continued in peace and happiness until at last the Great Gleaner came in their old age and knocked at the palace doors and gathered them in to rest.

THE THREE CALENDERS

ONE night, in the City of Baghdad, the Khalifeh Harun-er-Rashid went forth with Ja'far, his Grand Vizier, and Mesrur, his Executioner, all three disguised as merchants, for it was the Khalifeh's whim to wander abroad in this way at times, in order to learn how his people fared among themselves.

Taking their way at random, they had not gone far before they noticed a brilliantly-lighted house whence came sounds of music and revelry. "O Vizier," the Khalifeh said to Ja'far, "it is in my mind to enter this house, and see what entertainment we might find. Wherefore, devise some excuse whereby we may gain admittance." So Ja'far knocked at the door, and it was opened presently by a beautiful lady, tall and graceful as a windflower.

"O my mistress," said Ja'far courteously, "we are merchants from Tiberias, and, knowing not this City well, we have lost our way. I perceive that thou art kind, as well as beautiful; and I am emboldened to ask thee for safe shelter in thy house."

The lady regarded the three lost merchants with an approving glance, for, though she knew not their high degree, the dignity of state cannot be well concealed from a woman's eyes. "Wait a little," she said; "I will consult my sisters." And with this she retired within the house. Presently she returned, and bade them enter; whereupon they followed her into a sumptuously furnished apartment, where they found two other ladies as beautiful as the first; and with them was a porter--an amusing fellow, as full of quips and cranks as he was of wine--who had been entertaining them with joke and song and dance. The ladies smiled upon the three merchants, and welcomed them graciously, setting food and wine before them, and bidding them join in their merriment.

For a while the porter, who, like the three merchants, had come unbidden, but had been made welcome because of his versatility and ready wit in entertaining, kept the company in constant laughter, so that the Khalifeh said to Ja'far, "Verily, O Vizier, we should like this fellow's head and all it contains. Nay, O Mesrur," he added, turning to his Executioner, "I want not his head without the rest of him. He shall be my wag." "O King of the Age," answered the Grand Vizier, "I hear, and obey." Meanwhile, the porter continued to amuse them, but at length he became so intoxicated that his efforts to amuse were unsuccessful, whereat the entertainment flagged. "It seems to me," said the Khalifeh, "that these three ladies are no ordinary persons; perchance they have a history. Ask them to entertain us with their various stories." Accordingly, the Vizier singled out the eldest and put the question to her. But she liked it not, and, with a clouded brow, led him to the door, on the lintel of which she pointed out an inscription: "Ask not what doth not concern thee, lest thou hear what may not please thee." Ja'far returned and informed the Khalifeh of this, which only served to increase his curiosity. While he was planning a way with the Vizier to induce them to tell their history, there came a knock at the door. One of the sisters went to open it, and presently returned, saying, "There, are three Dervishes without, each of them clean shaven, and each lacking an eye."

"Ask them if they were born blind of an eye," said one of the sisters, "and if they are brothers." So the lady went and asked them these questions, and returned presently with the answer: "They were not born blind, but each lost his eye through an adventure; neither are they brothers, having met for the first time in this City, where they have lost their way. They are wandering Mendicants or Calenders."

At this, her sister turned to Ja'far. "Thou didst desire to hear our stories, O my master, but it seemeth that these Dervishes may have stories more interesting to hear. Shall we admit them?" The Khalifeh added his approval to that of Ja'far on this point, and the three Calenders were admitted. And strange looking men they were. Differing widely in feature and expression, they were all alike in the manner of their dress and general appearance. Each had lost one eye; and each had long black moustaches, twisted like silk, and drooping over a clean-shaven chin. Being of the order of mendicants, they bowed humbly, and stood silent. "Tell us how it is," said the eldest of the sisters, "that you three, being no relation one to another, and each lacking one eye, should be together." "In that," said one of the Calenders, "there is no more cause for wonder than that you three women, all unrelated one to another before birth, and all equally beautiful, should find yourselves sisters of one household."

At this the Khalifeh whispered to Ja'far, "This man's speech and address are not those of a mendicant. If I mistake not he hath moved in Royal Courts."

"Yet, O my mistress," the First Calender continued, "it may be that it was decreed by Destiny that we three, coming from three widely separate kingdoms, should meet in this City, the Abode of Peace, for our conditions appear to be similar. Each of us having lost, not only an eye, but a throne--for know that we are kings, and the sons of kings--has been led hither by the same stars, to kneel at the feet of the Khalifeh Harun-er-Rashid and implore his aid in the restoration of our royal state."

On hearing this, the Khalifeh looked down his beard, saying within himself, "If they knew, they would kneel and implore here and now. But they know not." Then a stratagem within a stratagem got hold of him, and he arose and bowed low to the three ladies.

"O my mistresses," he said, "whose beauty is unequalled, save by that of each to each, I crave your permission. It seems there is an entertainment in this matter. Here we have Three Royal Calenders suppliant to the Khalifeh--on whom be peace! Now, it will be good for them to rehearse their parts for our amusement; for so, when at last they gain audience of the Khalifeh, they will be well versed. Grant me then the privilege, O fair ones, to play the part of the Khalifeh, for I am not unskilled in the art of such play. Indeed, I have appeared before the Khalifeh himself--("In a mirror," assented Ja'far, in thought),--and he was greatly pleased with my impersonation and my appearance."

"Verily," said one of the sisters, in approval, "thou art a kingly man, and thou wilt play the part well. What say you, O my sisters?" she added, turning to the other two. They agreed, laughing, and clapping their hands, for they liked the idea of real suppliants rehearsing to a stage Khalifeh.

"Good!" cried one, "and these Calenders will approach thee as if thou wert in sober truth the Khalifeh."

"And," rejoined Er-Rashid, "as if these two were indeed my Grand Vizier, Ja'far, and Mesrur, my Executioner."

Loudly the two laughed at the Khalifeh's happy conceit, and preened themselves for office, Ja'far assuming his old look of terrible solemnity, while Mesrur, drawing his great sword, with a grin, struck an attitude that many had beheld for the last time.

The Calenders unbent to the play; the ladies sprang into animation; even the porter was rolled from a couch to give place to the Khalifeh, who sat himself thereon in royal state.

"On pain of death, O Calenders," said the Khalifeh--and all except Ja'far and Mesrur marvelled at his royal dignity--"I command you to make known to me severally the stories of your lives, for I would fain learn how each of you came to lose a throne, and an eye."

On this, the Royal Calenders, taking up the jest in a proper spirit, advanced and kissed the ground.

"Rise!" said the Khalifeh, imitating himself to perfection, "and see to it that your stories please not only me, but Mesrur, my Executioner; for his sword hath a cutting edge, and I observe that you have your heads with you." Singling out one of the three, he commanded the other two to stand aside. Then the first Royal Calender spoke as follows:--

THE STORY OF THE FIRST CALENDER

KNOW, O Prince of the Faithful, that I am a King, the son of a King, and one robbed of his heritage. My father's brother was also a King, and his son, my cousin, was born on the same day as myself. We two Princes were friends, and paid long visits to each other. On one occasion, when I was staying with him, he made much of me, honouring me with a rich banquet. When this was over, and we were alone, and the wine had made us genial, he drew near to me, and said: "O my cousin, I desire thine assistance in a matter that concerneth me greatly."

"I will serve thee without question, O son of my uncle," said I. But he made me swear by the holiest oath that I would assist him in his undertaking. Then, when he was satisfied, he left me for a little, and returned with a beautiful young woman, dressed in the manner of a queen. "Lead this woman before me," he said, "to the place of sepulture, which thou knowest. Enter that place, and await my coming."

Wondering greatly, but questioning nothing, I led the woman forth, and we waited for him among the tombs. Soon he came, bearing a bowl of water, some plaster, and a pointed bar of iron. Approaching a certain tomb, he dislodged the stones with the iron bar, and disclosed a vault with a stairway descending into it. Then, addressing the woman, he said: "Hast thou chosen?" And she replied, with a steady gaze, "Yea, I have chosen." And she descended the stairway into the vault. Then he said to me: "Cousin, farewell! for I too descend. Place the stones together above us, and cement them with the plaster moistened with the water, so that none can say, 'This vault is not as it should be.' Farewell! And may thy head long survive mine!" With this, he descended into the vault.

Bound by my oath, and like one compelled against his will, I did his bidding, ceasing not until I had closed up the tomb in such a way that none could tell it had been opened. But that night I was visited by terrible dreams, which magnified the enormity of what I had done. Repentance pricked me, and I arose, and went to the place of sepulture. There I searched for the tomb, but alas! so cleverly had I done my work that I could not trace it. All day long I sought it, but in vain; and, when evening fell, I returned to the Palace burdened with grief and remorse. Again my sleep was disturbed with dreams of horror, so that at daybreak, repenting of my action still more keenly, I repaired a second time to the burial place. But again my search was unsuccessful. And so I continued for seven days, searching and calling out among the tombs, but never could I find the place of my quest, nor from any tomb came back an answer to my cry. At last, nearly mad with grief and remorse, I left my uncle's palace to return to my father. But there fresh trouble awaited me, for, no sooner had I entered the gates of the city, than a party of guards sprang upon me, and bound me, and cast me into a dungeon.

O Prince of the Faithful, imagine my despair. I was the son of the King, and his servants had treated me in this manner. With anger I enquired the cause of this, but none answered me. At last I saw one who had been my own servant, and had received many benefits at my hands. I put the question to him, and he replied: "O my master, thy father is no more, for the Grand Vizier hath killed him, and now sitteth in his place." At this I bowed my head in grief for my father, and despair for my own life. And they led me before the Grand Vizier who had slain my father.

Now this Vizier had never been my friend, especially after an accident in which I was made instrumental by fate in depriving him of one of his eyes. It happened in this way: One day I was using the cross-bow when I saw a rare bird alight on the parapet of one of the windows in the Vizier's palace. I shot at it, but the missile struck not the bird, which was protected by Providence. Passing it narrowly it sped in at the window, and, guided by destiny, struck out the eye of the Vizier. My father being King the Vizier could do nothing against me, but the malice and hatred with which he had always regarded me from two eyes lost naught through being concentrated into one. No wonder then that now, my father being dead, and I standing before this regicide, bound and helpless, he fiercely commanded the executioner to strike off my head.

"What is my offence?" I asked. "Offence!" he cried. "Is not this offence enough?" and he pointed to the socket where his eye had been. "That was done by accident," I said. "And this by design," he answered, advancing swiftly and thrusting out my left eye. He then commanded me to be bound, and placed in a chest, and when this was done, he said to the Executioner: "Take this carrion, and convey it beyond the confines of the city. There draw thy sword, and cut it in pieces, so that the wild beasts may the more readily devour it."

Accordingly, the Executioner carried me forth upon a mule into the desert, where he took me out of the chest, and was about to kill me, when I implored him to spare my life, reminding him of the many kind deeds my father and I had done to him and to others. He was moved by my supplications, but shook his head, saying: "O my master, if I slay not thee, the Vizier will slay me." "The Vizier is not here to see," I said. "There is none here but thee and me."

He was silent for a little. Then he said: "Depart with thy life, and return not to this country, lest both our lives be forfeit." When he had said this, I thanked him, and kissed his hands; then, lest he might change his mind, I fled from him, and ceased not to journey night and day until I reached my uncle's palace. There I related to my uncle all that had taken place, and he wept with excess of grief. "Woe cometh on woe," he said, "for know that thy cousin, my son, hath gone from me, and hath not returned for many days. None knoweth where he is, nor what fate hath overtaken him. Nephew, thou hast lost a father, and one of thine eyes; and now, woe is me! I have lost a brother, and an only son."

On witnessing his terrible grief I could no longer remain silent regarding the disappearance of my cousin. I told him all. "By Allah!" he cried, joyfully. "Where is this tomb of which thou speakest?" "Alas! O my uncle," I replied; "I know not. I searched for it for many days, but could not find it." On this my uncle commanded a company of workmen to proceed to the burial place, and there, in our presence, they opened tomb after tomb.

In this manner, on the evening of the second day, when a great number of tombs had been opened and closed again, we came upon what we soon discovered to be the right one. When the stones had been dislodged, my uncle descended the stairway, and I followed. On reaching the bottom, we were met by a blinding smoke. Enduring this, we found our way into an apartment wherein was a table bearing food of many kinds. At the far end of this apartment we found a curtain. My uncle drew this aside, and we looked within upon a sight of horror. There, side by side upon a couch, were the forms of my cousin and the lady, charred by fire, as if they had been thrown into a furnace.

On seeing this terrible thing, my uncle uttered a loud cry, and spat upon his dead son's face. "Wretch!" he exclaimed. "Thou art come into thine own, and hast gone where worse awaits thee for this deed. May thou never find forgiveness!" And he spat again upon the charred face.

"Wherefore, O my uncle?" I said. "Is not his state already grievous enough that thou must invoke a worse fate upon him?"

"O son of my brother," he replied, "thou knowest not the sin of this accursed. From his youth he was inflamed with love for his foster sister, who now lies there upon the couch, and, in defiance of my will, he persisted in and encouraged this passion. While they were children I let it pass, saying, 'They are young: they will grow out of it.' But, alas! when they came of age I discovered that they were both deeply enamoured of each other. Then I took my son, and counselled him, and bade him beware lest any act of his should bring us to dishonour, and I told him that if such occurred, I would slay him with my own hand. I then took steps to separate them, but who can lock love out? For when he knew my will, he called the Devil to his purpose, and he entered and took possession of them both. And so it was that he made this secret place among the tombs wherein they met. But fire from Heaven consumed them, as thou hast seen, and now they are further punished in the fires of Iblis." Then he wept bitterly, and I covered my head, and wept with him. And when at last he could speak, he said: "But his place shall be filled by thee. Thou art now my son in his stead."

Long time we wept together there in the tomb by the side of the charred bodies of the dead, for we had no lack of trouble upon our heads. Then we arose, and ascended the stairway, and my uncle ordered the workmen to replace the stones upon the tomb. Sadly we turned away, and retraced our steps to my uncle's palace. There we were about to dispose ourselves to rest when we heard unwonted sounds without--the tramp of an advancing host; the clank of armour, and loud cries of dismay from the populace. Drums beat and trumpets sounded; shrieks came out of riot, and groans issued from the wake of galloping hoofs. Then came a eunuch running, his face distorted, and his garb dishevelled. "The City is lost!" he cried. "On a sudden, being taken unawares, it is surrendered to the enemy. O King, thy brother's Vizier hath slain him, and he hath now come hither with his army, and none can stand against him."

At this, my uncle arose, and hastened forth; but I, knowing full well what would happen to me if I fell into the Vizier's hands, remained, and took thought on how I might escape unobserved by any of my father's city. I could think of naught but to shave off my beard, and change my clothes, thus disguising myself. This I did in all haste, and so made my way through the turbulent crowds of people, and escaped.

Far, far to the North I knew was the City of Baghdad, the Abode of Peace; and I bent my steps hither, for I said within myself, "There abideth the Khalifeh, the Prince of the Faithful, and the King of the Age. I will go and kneel at his feet, and humbly entreat him to strike mine enemy, and restore to me my father's throne." And when I arrived in this City some few hours since, it was night. I stood at the cross roads, not knowing which way to turn, when one like myself, a mendicant, drew nigh, and I saluted him. "I am a stranger," I said. "Canst thou direct me to a khan for shelter?" And he replied, "I too am a stranger, and would put the same question to thee." But lo, as I looked at him, I saw that he was in like case with me, having lost his left eye. I was about to question him on this, when a third mendicant came out of the night, and accosted us. "By Allah!" cried the two of us in a breath, "and thou too hast lost an eye!" "Verily," said he, "we are all strangers one to another, but the stars have enmeshed us in their network, and so have drawn us together with one purpose." "And that is?" we asked. "To seek audience of the Khalifeh," he answered; "for the tables of the stars have told me that I, a King, and the son of a King, should meet in this City two others who, royal like myself, have planned to seek the Khalifeh of the Lord of all creatures, craving redress for wrongs."

And the three of us marvelled at this thing, and at the exact computation of time and space in the mind of Destiny. And thus, from strangers we speedily came to be friends, having a common object. Then, proceeding forth together, we came at length to this house, where, by the grace of these hospitable ladies, we relate our true stories as if to the----

"As if?" cried Mesrur, grasping his sword, and clanking it on the table before him.

"As if!" echoed Ja'far, springing from his seat with well-feigned indignation.

"Silence!" cried Er-Rashid, rising in stately wrath. "O Calender, thy story is good, but if thou wert about to say 'as if to the Khalifeh' thou wert out of order. When I play a part, I play a part. I _am_ the Khalifeh! The Prince of the Faithful! The King of the Age!"

The ladies laughed, with beaming eyes. The three Royal Calenders yielded to the jest with winks and nods to one another; then, as the porter grovelled the floor in mock obeisance to the Lord of the Earth, the others followed in like spirit, and prostrated themselves in all humility.

"Peace be on you!" said Er-Rashid. "Rise, and be seated! As for thee, O Calender, thy case is extraordinary, and I will see to it that thou art restored to thy throne. Now it is our royal will that ye proceed with this entertainment."

At this, the second Calender advanced, and, having kissed the ground, rose, and spoke as follows:--

THE STORY OF THE SECOND CALENDER

O KING of the Age, my story is such that none hearing it need lack a lesson or a warning. I, a King, the son of a King, devoted my youth and early manhood to the study of the arts and sciences, so that I became proficient, and excelled greatly in all branches of learning. My fame as a scribe spread far and wide, even to India, so that the King of that land sent a messenger with rich gifts to my father, requesting that I might be allowed to visit him. This pleased my father, and he fitted out a fleet of ships laden with rich gifts, and set them at my disposal.

With a goodly company I sailed eastward, and after many days reached land. Disembarking some splendid horses we had brought with us, we loaded them with gifts and set out for the King's capital, but we had not proceeded far when a cloud of dust arose in the distance and swept rapidly toward us, with a sound like thunder; and, not until it was near at hand did we observe, outstripping the cloud, a large body of horsemen. Wild-eyed and fierce, and with lances poised, these rode down upon us. We shouted to them that we were ambassadors to the King of India, but this was of no service to us, for it appeared that these men were robbers and recognised no king. This we learned from their cries and shouts as they swept upon us, slaying all within reach of their spears. Some of us fled. I was one of them, though I was wounded; and so closely were the robbers occupied with the treasure upon the horses, that they did not pursue.

Separated from the other survivors, and not knowing which way to search for them, I journeyed on and on, weak from loss of blood, and wretched from my change of state, until in the evening I discovered a cave at the foot of a mountain. Here I rested until the morning, when, after having journeyed on for some hours, I found I was approaching a great city. With joy I made my way towards its sunlit towers and spires, passing through gardens of ever-increasing luxuriance, until I came to the busy parts of the thoroughfares, where merchants thronged the market places, buying and selling.

Not knowing how to proceed in this city, I looked about for someone who might give ear to my tale, and advise me what to do. At last I espied a tailor sitting at work in his shop, and decided that I would speak with him. He received me kindly, and I told him my tale, acquainting him with all that had happened since I left my father's capital. When I had finished he shook his head gravely, and said: "My son, verily thou art in hard case, though it is fortunate thou camest to me with thy story, and not to another. Knowest thou not that the King of this city is thy father's greatest enemy, having a blood-debt against him? Wherefore, tell not thy tale again to any, lest the King hear of it, and inflict an injury of vengence upon thee." The tailor then treated me with hospitality, setting food and wine before me, and bade me remain in his house awhile.

When he had harboured me for some days, the tailor desired to know if I had any trade by means of which I could earn my living. Whereat I informed him that I was learned in the arts and sciences, and a fine writer. "Alas!" he said, "there is no profit in such things. This is a city of commerce, where people devote themselves to getting money. Arise, therefore, O my son, and work for thy living."

He then fetched an axe and a coil of rope, and bade me go to the forest without the city and hew firewood, which, on my return in the evening, I might sell for a good price. So I followed his counsel, and, when I found that my day's work brought me half a gold piece, I continued to dwell with the tailor, and hewed wood for the space of a whole year, paying my way, and steadily setting by something of my earnings day by day. Then a strange thing happened to me.

One day, while I was clearing the earth from the roots of a tree in the forest, I came upon a ring of brass. This, I soon discovered, was attached to a trap door, which, with some difficulty, I removed. Then, seeing before me a staircase, I descended until I reached a door, by which, on opening it, I found admittance to a large underground palace, richly furnished. On wandering through the rooms of this place, I came at length to one more richly decorated than all the others; and here, reclining upon a couch, was a lady of surpassing loveliness. The rarity of her charms dazzled me and took my breath away, so that I stood speechless before her. "Art thou a man?" said the lady, regarding me intently, "or art thou an Efrite?" This loosened my tongue, and I replied, "I am a man, as thou art a woman." She answered, "Yea, I am a woman, and thou art the first man I have seen for a space of twenty-five years, every day and night of which I have spent in this place. How camest thou hither?"

Her voice was sweet as her face was fair, and my heart was melted at the thought of her long captivity. I resolved to tell her my story, for here at least was one who could not spread it abroad in the bazaars. Accordingly I seated myself on the couch at a little distance from her, and related my story from beginning to end; whereupon she wept at my hard lot, saying, "O my master, thy case is not unlike mine." And she proceeded to acquaint me with it.

"I am the daughter of the King of the Ebony Isles," she said. "My father married me to my cousin, but on the night of our wedding an Efrite--a true son of Iblis--appeared, and, snatching me from my husband, carried me through the air to this spot where he had built this palace and filled it with all things necessary to my comfort. And from that night, twenty-five years ago, to the present, I have never seen the outside world. On every tenth day he cometh to me, to leave me on the following morning, but if I desire his instant presence at any time, I have but to press this panel of the wall whereon are inscribed some magic characters, and immediately he appeareth before me. Four days have now passed since he was here, so that there remain six of the ten. Do thou therefore dwell here with me for five days, and depart one day before he cometh."

I agreed to this, and when I had bathed, and put on some garments which she gave me, I sat by her side, and we ate and drank, and conversed happily together. Presently she sang to me in a sweet low voice, and, being fatigued, as well as drowsy with wine, I slept.

When I awoke, she was bending over me, with joy on her face. "Allah hath been good to me in sending thee here," she said; "for I was nigh to death with loneliness." At this my heart swelled with love for her, and I could think of naught else but her wondrous charm and beauty. And when I told her this, she said nothing, but the light of her eyes told me all there was to tell. And I remained with her in the greatest joy and happiness. We feasted, and drank, and sang; and, while I played upon musical instruments, she danced with a grace and skill that I had never seen before. At length, on the third day, when I was drunk with love and wine, I said to her: "Let me take thee from this sumptuous dungeon, and free thee from this vile Efrite." But perchance she knew that this would be impossible, for she replied, laughing softy, "Hold thy peace, O man; thou hast nine days out of the ten." This inflamed me, and my passion made me valiant. "It is the tenth day I want," I cried, "and the other nine as well. Lo here! I am a slayer and a conqueror of Efrites. I will this instant break this panel with the magic signs, so that the Efrite may come and be slain." With a cry she sprang forward to stop me, but I escaped from her embrace, and, aiming a violent kick at the panel, broke it.

"Flee for thy life ere he cometh," she cried, pointing towards the door. I scarcely knew whether to flee or to remain and face the Efrite, but my feet settled the matter for me, and I gained the doorway in a bound. Then, turning my head, I saw the ground open, and there rose into the room an Efrite of terrible aspect, who looked threateningly at the woman, and demanded to know the cause of his being summoned in such a manner. "Nay, it was naught," said she, "save that I tripped and fell against the panel, breaking it as thou seest." "Thou liest!" he cried, in a voice of rage, and, as he said it, his eyes, rolling round in his head, fell upon my sandals and my axe, which in my haste I had left. "Ha!" he exclaimed, snatching them up, "some man hath visited thee, and hath left his axe and his sandals. Confess, vile woman!"

But she denied it, saying, "No man hath visited me, and thou must have brought these things with thee, for I have never set eyes on them until this instant." "Again thou liest!" he roared, "and unless thou tell me his name, I will beat thy body black and blue." With this he turned to look for the wherewithal to beat her, and, at sight of his fierce face and huge bulk, my heart turned to water within me, and I fled up the stairway. Before I reached the top I heard the sound of blows, followed by loud cries and shrieks from the woman. Full of bitter repentance that she should suffer thus on my account, and unable to endure the sounds of torture, I hastened through the trap door and fastened it behind me. Then, when I had covered it with earth, I fled through the forest and paused not till I had gained the house of the tailor.

I found him in a state of great anxiety on my account, for I had been absent three days and three nights. "I feared thou hadst fallen a prey to some wild beast," he cried, "but praise be to God that thou art safe!" I thanked him, and, saying that I was fatigued and would tell him all later, went to my own apartment to weep over what had come to that poor woman through my rash action. But I had not been there many minutes when the tailor came to me, saying, "There is one, a foreigner, in the shop, who desires to speak with thee. He hath an axe and a pair of sandals, which he thinks are thine, and the other woodcutters have directed him to thee; so come forth to receive them, and to thank him." With this, he returned to the shop, leaving me pale with fear, for well I knew the meaning of this thing. While I was planning what to do--whether to go into the shop, or escape by some other way--the floor was rent asunder, and there rose from it the Efrite. In a loud voice he told me that he had tortured the lady nigh to death, but without avail, for she would tell him nothing; whereat he had taken the axe and the sandals, and, by enquiries, had traced me to the tailor's abode. With this, he seized me and bore me aloft through the roof of the house, and thence rapidly through the air into the forest, where he descended through the earth and placed me within the chamber of the palace from which I had fled. There, on the floor, laid the lady, bleeding from the wounds inflicted by the Efrite's torture. "Shameless woman!" cried he, standing over her; "here is thy lover: deny it not." She glanced at me, and answered him: "I have never set eyes on this man before." He appeared to take thought for a moment, and then he said: "Thou wilt swear that thou lovest not this man?" She answered him: "I know him not; I love him not." The Efrite drew his sword. "If thou lovest him not," said he, "take this sword and strike off his head."

She took the sword from him, and, coming towards me, raised it to strike; but I made a sign with my eye, imploring her pity. She replied also with a sign, as if to say, "I have suffered all this through thee." But I still implored her with the speech of the eye, for, as the poet saith:

The language of the eye, like the kisses of the mouth is
sweet as honey, and only lovers understand it.
When the lips are closed, love openeth the windows of the
soul, and conveyeth its meaning by soft glances.

And when my meaning was thus conveyed to her, she flung away the sword and faced the Efrite, crying, "I cannot slay him, for he hath done me no injury." The Efrite answered her not, but, taking up the sword, handed it to me. "Strike off her head," he said, "and I will set thee free." I took the sword, and arose to do the deed; but, while my arm was raised to strike, love spoke again from her eyes. My hand trembled, my heart melted. I flung the sword from me. "Wherefore should I slay this woman, who hath done me no injury, and whom I have never seen before?" I said to the Efrite. "Never before God can I commit this crime." The Efrite took the sword, and saying, "It is clear there is love between you," he cut off one of the lady's hands, then the other, and then both her feet. And, in her pain, her eyes were turned on me, and the words of love were in them. The Efrite saw her look, and cried, "Is it not enough? Wilt thou still commit the crime of unfaithfulness with thine eye?" And, raising the sword again, he cut off her head.

"O man," he said, turning to me, "it is lawful for one, having known his wife for twenty-five years, to kill her for the crime of unfaithfulness. As for thee, I will not permit thee to join her. I will not take thy life, but, as I am minded to punish thee, I will give thee thy choice as to whether thou wilt be changed into the form of a dog, or an ass, or an ape." Since he had shewn me this clemency, I thought by pleading to melt him further, so that perchance he would pardon me altogether. Therefore, I recited many instances of kindness and generosity shewn by Efrites to mortals, some of which I had gleaned from books, while others I invented then and there, with a ready wit. But, though the Efrite listened, his bearing changed not towards me one hair's breadth. "Thou hast been misinformed," he said at last. "The Efrite knows neither kindness nor generosity: he is only constrained by the justice of those who have sovereignty over him. Wherefore, hold thy peace, and neither fear that I shall slay thee, nor hope that I shall pardon thee. Thou shalt be punished by the power of enchantment, and thou knowest not how to prevent it."

Immediately on these words, he stamped the floor with his foot, and the sides of the Palace rocked on their foundations, and fell together; but seizing me, he clove a way through the falling structure, and bore me aloft to a great height. Presently he set me down upon the summit of a high mountain, where he took up a handful of dust, and, having chanted some strange words over it, cast it upon me, crying, "Change thy form, O Man! Retain thy form, O Ape!" And immediately I suffered a rending pang in my bones and flesh, and behold, I was a man ape, old and ugly, and clothed only with hair. When I looked up from examining my ungainly limbs, the Efrite had disappeared.