"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
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