At these words Zobeida's anger cooled down, and she turned to her
slaves and said, "You can give them a little more liberty, but do not
leave the hall. Those that will tell us their histories and their
reasons for coming here shall be allowed to leave unhurt; those who
refuse--" And she paused, but in a moment the porter, who understood
that he had only to relate his story to set himself free from this
terrible danger, immediately broke in,
"Madam, you know already how I came here, and what I have to say will
soon be told. Your sister found me this morning in the place where I
always stand waiting to be hired. She bade me follow her to various
shops, and when my basket was quite full we returned to this house,
when you had the goodness to permit me to remain, for which I shall be
eternally grateful. That is my story."
He looked anxiously to Zobeida, who nodded her head and said, "You can
go; and take care we never meet again."
"Oh, madam," cried the porter, "let me stay yet a little while. It is
not just that the others should have heard my story and that I should
not hear theirs," and without waiting for permission he seated himself
on the end of the sofa occupied by the ladies, whilst the rest crouched
on the carpet, and the slaves stood against the wall.
Then one of the Calenders, addressing himself to Zobeida as the
principal lady, began his story.
The Story of the First Calender, Son of a King
In order, madam, to explain how I came to lose my right eye, and to
wear the dress of a Calender, you must first know that I am the son of
a king. My father's only brother reigned over the neighbouring
country, and had two children, a daughter and a son, who were of the
same age as myself.