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There is no bitt’rer thing; and yet if patience play me false, It were to me a bitt’rer thing than all the rest, I trow.
The wrinkles graven on my heart would speak my hidden pain If through my breast the thought could pierce and read what lies below.
Were but my load on mountains laid, they’d crumble into dust; On fire it would be quenched outright; on wind, ’twould cease to blow.
Let who will say that life is sweet; to all there comes a day When they must needs a bitt’rer thing than aloes[1] undergo.
Then I journeyed through many lands and cities, intending for the Abode of Peace,[2] Baghdad, in the hope that I might get speech of the Commander of the Faithful and tell him all that had befallen me. I arrived here this night and found my brother, this first Calender, standing perplexed; so I saluted him and entered into converse with him. Presently up came our brother, this third Calender, and said to us, “Peace be on you! I am a stranger.” “We also are strangers,” answered we, “and have come hither this blessed night.” So we all three walked on together, none of us knowing the others’ story, till chance brought us to this door and we came in to you.
This, then, is my story and the manner of the shaving of my face and the loss of my eye.’ Quoth the mistress of the house, ‘Thy story is indeed a rare one: and now begone about thy business.’ But he replied, ‘I will not stir till I hear the others’ stories.’ Then came forward the third Calender and said, ‘O illustrious lady, my history is not like that of these my comrades, but still stranger and more marvellous, in that, whilst destiny and fore-ordained fate overcame them unawares, I with mine own hand drew fate and affliction upon myself, as thou shalt presently hear. Know that
STORY OF THE THIRD CALENDER.
I also am a king, the son of a king, and my name is Agib, son of Khesib. My father died, and I took the
- ↑ See note on p. 120.
- ↑ Dar es Selam.
