Caliph Chasid, of Bagdad, was resting comfortably on his divan one fine
afternoon. He was smoking a long pipe, and from time to time he sipped a
little coffee which a slave handed to him, and after each sip he stroked
his long beard with an air of enjoyment. In short, anyone could see that
the Caliph was in an excellent humour. This was, in fact, the best time
of day in which to approach him, for just now he was pretty sure to be
both affable and in good spirits, and for this reason the Grand Vizier
Mansor always chose this hour in which to pay his daily visit.
He arrived as usual this afternoon, but, contrary to his usual custom,
with an anxious face. The Caliph withdrew his pipe for a moment from his
lips and asked, ‘Why do you look so anxious, Grand Vizier?’
The Grand Vizier crossed his arms on his breast and bent low before his
master as he answered:
‘Oh, my Lord! whether my countenance be anxious or not I know not, but
down below, in the court of the palace, is a pedlar with such beautiful
things that I cannot help feeling annoyed at having so little money to
spare.’
The Caliph, who had wished for some time past to give his Grand Vizier a
present, ordered his black slave to bring the pedlar before him at once.
The slave soon returned, followed by the pedlar, a short stout man with
a swarthy face, and dressed in very ragged clothes. He carried a box
containing all manner of wares--strings of pearls, rings, richly
mounted pistols, goblets, and combs. The Caliph and his Vizier inspected
everything, and the Caliph chose some handsome pistols for himself and
Mansor, and a jewelled comb for the Vizier’s wife. Just as the pedlar
was about to close his box, the Caliph noticed a small drawer, and asked
if there was anything else in it for sale. The pedlar opened the drawer
and showed them a box containing a black powder, and a scroll written in
strange characters, which neither the Caliph nor the Mansor could read.
‘I got these two articles from a merchant who had picked them up in the
street at Mecca,’ said the pedlar. ‘I do not know what they may contain,
but as they are of no use to me, you are welcome to have them for a
trifle.’
The Caliph, who liked to have old manuscripts in his library, even
though he could not read them, purchased the scroll and the box, and
dismissed the pedlar. Then, being anxious to know what might be the
contents of the scroll, he asked the Vizier if he did not know of anyone
who might be able to decipher it.
‘Most gracious Lord and master,’ replied the Vizier, ‘near the great
Mosque lives a man called Selim the learned, who knows every language
under the sun. Send for him; it may be that he will be able to interpret
these mysterious characters.’
The learned Selim was summoned immediately.
‘Selim,’ said the Caliph, ‘I hear you are a scholar. Look well at this
scroll and see whether you can read it. If you can, I will give you
a robe of honour; but if you fail, I will order you to receive twelve
strokes on your cheeks, and five-and-twenty on the soles of your feet,
because you have been falsely called Selim the learned.’
Selim prostrated himself and said, ‘Be it according to your will, oh
master!’ Then he gazed long at the scroll. Suddenly he exclaimed: ‘May I
die, oh, my Lord, if this isn’t Latin!’
‘Well,’ said the Caliph, ‘if it is Latin, let us hear what it means.’
So Selim began to translate: ‘Thou who mayest find this, praise Allah
for his mercy. Whoever shall snuff the powder in this box, and at the
same time shall pronounce the word “Mutabor!” can transform himself into
any creature he likes, and will understand the language of all animals.
When he wishes to resume the human form, he has only to bow three times
towards the east, and to repeat the same word. Be careful, however,
when wearing the shape of some beast or bird, not to laugh, or thou wilt
certainly forget the magic word and remain an animal for ever.’
When Selim the learned had read this, the Caliph was delighted. He made
the wise man swear not to tell the matter to anyone, gave him a splendid
robe, and dismissed him. Then he said to his Vizier, ‘That’s what I call
a good bargain, Mansor. I am longing for the moment when I can become
some animal. To-morrow morning I shall expect you early; we will go into
the country, take some snuff from my box, and then hear what is being
said in air, earth, and water.’
Next morning Caliph Chasid had barely finished dressing, and
breakfasting, when the Grand Vizier arrived, according to orders, to
accompany him in his expedition. The Caliph stuck the snuff-box in his
girdle, and, having desired his servants to remain at home, started off
with the Grand Vizier only in attendance. First they walked through the
palace gardens, but they looked in vain for some creature which could
tempt them to try their magic power. At length the Vizier suggested
going further on to a pond which lay beyond the town, and where he
had often seen a variety of creatures, especially storks, whose grave,
dignified appearance and constant chatter had often attracted his
attention.
The Caliph consented, and they went straight to the pond. As soon as
they arrived they remarked a stork strutting up and down with a stately
air, hunting for frogs, and now and then muttering something to itself.
At the same time they saw another stork far above in the sky flying
towards the same spot.
‘I would wager my beard, most gracious master,’ said the Grand Vizier,
‘that these two long legs will have a good chat together. How would it
be if we turned ourselves into storks?’
‘Well said,’ replied the Caliph; ‘but first let us remember carefully
how we are to become men once more. True! Bow three times towards the
east and say “Mutabor!” and I shall be Caliph and you my Grand Vizier
again. But for Heaven’s sake don’t laugh or we are lost!’
As the Caliph spoke he saw the second stork circling round his head and
gradually flying towards the earth. Quickly he drew the box from his
girdle, took a good pinch of the snuff, and offered one to Mansor, who
also took one, and both cried together ‘Mutabor!’
Instantly their legs shrivelled up and grew thin and red; their smart
yellow slippers turned to clumsy stork’s feet, their arms to wings;
their necks began to sprout from between their shoulders and grew a
yard long; their beards disappeared, and their bodies were covered with
feathers.
‘You’ve got a fine long bill, Sir Vizier,’ cried the Caliph, after
standing for some time lost in astonishment. ‘By the beard of the
Prophet I never saw such a thing in all my life!’
‘My very humble thanks,’ replied the Grand Vizier, as he bent his long
neck; ‘but, if I may venture to say so, your Highness is even handsomer
as a stork than as a Caliph. But come, if it so pleases you, let us go
near our comrades there and find out whether we really do understand the
language of storks.’
Meantime the second stork had reached the ground. It first scraped its
bill with its claw, stroked down its feathers, and then advanced towards
the first stork. The two newly made storks lost no time in drawing near,
and to their amazement overheard the following conversation:
‘Good morning, Dame Longlegs. You are out early this morning!’
‘Yes, indeed, dear Chatterbill! I am getting myself a morsel of
breakfast. May I offer you a joint of lizard or a frog’s thigh?’
‘A thousand thanks, but I have really no appetite this morning. I
am here for a very different purpose. I am to dance to-day before
my father’s guests, and I have come to the meadow for a little quiet
practice.’
Thereupon the young stork began to move about with the most wonderful
steps. The Caliph and Mansor looked on in surprise for some time; but
when at last she balanced herself in a picturesque attitude on one leg,
and flapped her wings gracefully up and down, they could hold out no
longer; a prolonged peal burst from each of their bills, and it was some
time before they could recover their composure. The Caliph was the first
to collect himself. ‘That was the best joke,’ said he, ‘I’ve ever seen.
It’s a pity the stupid creatures were scared away by our laughter, or no
doubt they would have sung next!’
Suddenly, however, the Vizier remembered how strictly they had been
warned not to laugh during their transformation. He at once communicated
his fears to the Caliph, who exclaimed, ‘By Mecca and Medina! it
would indeed prove but a poor joke if I had to remain a stork for the
remainder of my days! Do just try and remember the stupid word, it has
slipped my memory.’
‘We must bow three times eastwards and say “Mu...mu...mu...”’
They turned to the east and fell to bowing till their bills touched the
ground, but, oh horror--the magic word was quite forgotten, and
however often the Caliph bowed and however touchingly his Vizier cried
‘Mu...mu...’ they could not recall it, and the unhappy Chasid and Mansor
remained storks as they were.
The two enchanted birds wandered sadly on through the meadows. In
their misery they could not think what to do next. They could not rid
themselves of their new forms; there was no use in returning to the town
and saying who they were; for who would believe a stork who announced
that he was a Caliph; and even if they did believe him, would the people
of Bagdad consent to let a stork rule over them?
So they lounged about for several days, supporting themselves on fruits,
which, however, they found some difficulty in eating with their long
bills. They did not much care to eat frogs or lizards. Their one comfort
in their sad plight was the power of flying, and accordingly they often
flew over the roofs of Bagdad to see what was going on there.
During the first few days they noticed signs of much disturbance and
distress in the streets, but about the fourth day, as they sat on the
roof of the palace, they perceived a splendid procession passing below
them along the street. Drums and trumpets sounded, a man in a scarlet
mantle, embroidered in gold, sat on a splendidly caparisoned horse
surrounded by richly dressed slaves; half Bagdad crowded after him, and
they all shouted, ‘Hail, Mirza, the Lord of Bagdad!’
The two storks on the palace roof looked at each other, and Caliph
Chasid said, ‘Can you guess now, Grand Vizier, why I have been
enchanted? This Mirza is the son of my deadly enemy, the mighty magician
Kaschnur, who in an evil moment vowed vengeance on me. Still I will not
despair! Come with me, my faithful friend; we will go to the grave of
the Prophet, and perhaps at that sacred spot the spell may be loosed.’
They rose from the palace roof, and spread their wings toward Medina.
But flying was not quite an easy matter, for the two storks had had but
little practice as yet.
‘Oh, my Lord!’ gasped the Vizier, after a couple of hours, ‘I can get
on no longer; you really fly too quick for me. Besides, it is nearly
evening, and we should do well to find some place in which to spend the
night.’
Chasid listened with favour to his servant’s suggestion, and perceiving
in the valley beneath them a ruin which seemed to promise shelter they
flew towards it. The building in which they proposed to pass the night
had apparently been formerly a castle. Some handsome pillars still stood
amongst the heaps of ruins, and several rooms, which yet remained in
fair preservation, gave evidence of former splendour. Chasid and his
companion wandered along the passages seeking a dry spot, when suddenly
Mansor stood still.
‘My Lord and master,’ he whispered, ‘if it were not absurd for a Grand
Vizier, and still more for a stork, to be afraid of ghosts, I should
feel quite nervous, for someone, or something close by me, has sighed
and moaned quite audibly.’
The Caliph stood still and distinctly heard a low weeping sound which
seemed to proceed from a human being rather than from any animal. Full
of curiosity he was about to rush towards the spot from whence the
sounds of woe came, when the Vizier caught him by the wing with his
bill, and implored him not to expose himself to fresh and unknown
dangers. The Caliph, however, under whose stork’s breast a brave heart
beat, tore himself away with the loss of a few feathers, and hurried
down a dark passage. He saw a door which stood ajar, and through which
he distinctly heard sighs, mingled with sobs. He pushed open the door
with his bill, but remained on the threshold, astonished at the sight
which met his eyes. On the floor of the ruined chamber--which was but
scantily lighted by a small barred window--sat a large screech owl. Big
tears rolled from its large round eyes, and in a hoarse voice it uttered
its complaints through its crooked beak. As soon as it saw the Caliph
and his Vizier--who had crept up meanwhile--it gave vent to a joyful
cry. It gently wiped the tears from its eyes with its spotted brown
wings, and to the great amazement of the two visitors, addressed them in
good human Arabic.
‘Welcome, ye storks! You are a good sign of my deliverance, for it was
foretold me that a piece of good fortune should befall me through a
stork.’
When the Caliph had recovered from his surprise, he drew up his feet
into a graceful position, bent his long neck, and said: ‘Oh, screech
owl! from your words I am led to believe that we see in you a companion
in misfortune. But, alas! your hope that you may attain your deliverance
through us is but a vain one. You will know our helplessness when you
have heard our story.’
The screech owl begged him to relate it, and the Caliph accordingly told
him what we already know.
When the Caliph had ended, the owl thanked him and said: ‘You hear my
story, and own that I am no less unfortunate than yourselves. My father
is the King of the Indies. I, his only daughter, am named Lusa.
That magician Kaschnur, who enchanted you, has been the cause of my
misfortunes too. He came one day to my father and demanded my hand for
his son Mirza. My father--who is rather hasty--ordered him to be thrown
downstairs. The wretch not long after managed to approach me under
another form, and one day, when I was in the garden, and asked for some
refreshment, he brought me--in the disguise of a slave--a draught which
changed me at once to this horrid shape. Whilst I was fainting with
terror he transported me here, and cried to me with his awful voice:
“There shall you remain, lonely and hideous, despised even by the
brutes, till the end of your days, or till some one of his own free will
asks you to be his wife. Thus do I avenge myself on you and your proud
father.”
‘Since then many months have passed away. Sad and lonely do I live like
any hermit within these walls, avoided by the world and a terror even
to animals; the beauties of nature are hidden from me, for I am blind by
day, and it is only when the moon sheds her pale light on this spot that
the veil falls from my eyes and I can see.’ The owl paused, and once
more wiped her eyes with her wing, for the recital of her woes had drawn
fresh tears from her.
The Caliph fell into deep thought on hearing this story of the Princess.
‘If I am not much mistaken,’ said he, ‘there is some mysterious
connection between our misfortunes, but how to find the key to the
riddle is the question.’
The owl answered: ‘Oh, my Lord! I too feel sure of this, for in my
earliest youth a wise woman foretold that a stork would bring me
some great happiness, and I think I could tell you how we might save
ourselves.’ The Caliph was much surprised, and asked her what she meant.
‘The Magician who has made us both miserable,’ said she, ‘comes once a
month to these ruins. Not far from this room is a large hall where he is
in the habit of feasting with his companions. I have often watched them.
They tell each other all about their evil deeds, and possibly the magic
word which you have forgotten may be mentioned.’
‘Oh, dearest Princess!’ exclaimed the Caliph, ‘say, when does he come,
and where is the hall?’
The owl paused a moment and then said: ‘Do not think me unkind, but I
can only grant your request on one condition.’
‘Speak, speak!’ cried Chasid; ‘command, I will gladly do whatever you
wish!’
‘Well,’ replied the owl, ‘you see I should like to be free too; but this
can only be if one of you will offer me his hand in marriage.’
The storks seemed rather taken aback by this suggestion, and the Caliph
beckoned to his Vizier to retire and consult with him.
When they were outside the door the Caliph said: ‘Grand Vizier, this is
a tiresome business. However, you can take her.’
‘Indeed!’ said the Vizier; ‘so that when I go home my wife may scratch
my eyes out! Besides, I am an old man, and your Highness is still young
and unmarried, and a far more suitable match for a young and lovely
Princess.’
‘That’s just where it is,’ sighed the Caliph, whose wings drooped in
a dejected manner; ‘how do you know she is young and lovely? I call it
buying a pig in a poke.’
They argued on for some time, but at length, when the Caliph saw plainly
that his Vizier would rather remain a stork to the end of his days than
marry the owl, he determined to fulfil the condition himself. The owl
was delighted. She owned that they could not have arrived at a better
time, as most probably the magicians would meet that very night.
She then proceeded to lead the two storks to the chamber. They passed
through a long dark passage till at length a bright ray of light shone
before them through the chinks of a half-ruined wall. When they reached
it the owl advised them to keep very quiet. Through the gap near which
they stood they could with ease survey the whole of the large hall. It
was adorned with splendid carved pillars; a number of coloured lamps
replaced the light of day. In the middle of the hall stood a round table
covered with a variety of dishes, and about the table was a divan on
which eight men were seated. In one of these bad men the two recognised
the pedlar who had sold the magic powder. The man next him begged him to
relate all his latest doings, and amongst them he told the story of the
Caliph and his Vizier.
‘And what kind of word did you give them?’ asked another old sorcerer.
‘A very difficult Latin word; it is “Mutabor.”’
As soon as the storks heard this they were nearly beside themselves with
joy. They ran at such a pace to the door of the ruined castle that the
owl could scarcely keep up with them. When they reached it the Caliph
turned to the owl, and said with much feeling: ‘Deliverer of my friend
and myself, as a proof of my eternal gratitude, accept me as your
husband.’ Then he turned towards the east. Three times the storks bowed
their long necks to the sun, which was just rising over the mountains.
‘Mutabor!’ they both cried, and in an instant they were once more
transformed. In the rapture of their newly-given lives master and
servant fell laughing and weeping into each other’s arms. Who shall
describe their surprise when they at last turned round and beheld
standing before them a beautiful lady exquisitely dressed!
With a smile she held out her hand to the Caliph, and asked: ‘Do you not
recognise your screech owl?’
It was she! The Caliph was so enchanted by her grace and beauty, that he
declared being turned into a stork had been the best piece of luck
which had ever befallen him. The three set out at once for Bagdad.
Fortunately, the Caliph found not only the box with the magic powder,
but also his purse in his girdle; he was, therefore, able to buy in the
nearest village all they required for their journey, and so at last they
reached the gates of Bagdad.
Here the Caliph’s arrival created the greatest sensation. He had been
quite given up for dead, and the people were greatly rejoiced to see
their beloved ruler again.
Their rage with the usurper Mirza, however, was great in proportion.
They marched in force to the palace and took the old magician and
his son prisoners. The Caliph sent the magician to the room where the
Princess had lived as an owl, and there had him hanged. As the son,
however, knew nothing of his father’s acts, the Caliph gave him his
choice between death and a pinch of the magic snuff. When he chose the
latter, the Grand Vizier handed him the box. One good pinch, and the
magic word transformed him to a stork. The Caliph ordered him to be
confined in an iron cage, and placed in the palace gardens.
Caliph Chasid lived long and happily with his wife the Princess. His
merriest time was when the Grand Vizier visited him in the afternoon;
and when the Caliph was in particularly high spirits he would condescend
to mimic the Vizier’s appearance when he was a stork. He would strut
gravely, and with well-stiffened legs, up and down the room, chattering,
and showing how he had vainly bowed to the east and cried ‘Mu...Mu...’
The Caliphess and her children were always much entertained by this
performance; but when the Caliph went on nodding and bowing, and calling
‘Mu...mu...’ too long, the Vizier would threaten laughingly to tell the
Chaliphess the subject of the discussion carried on one night outside
the door of Princess Screech Owl.