Edmund Dulac
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[154] 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[155] 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[158] 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[160] 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.
woman in what looks like a pillared hallway underground
“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[161] 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[164] 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:—
