CHAPTER II.
The following morning the Caliph Chasid had scarcely finished his breakfast, when the grand vizier appeared in order to accompany his master upon his morning walk. The Caliph tucked the snuff-box containing the magic powder into his sash, and having commanded his attendants to remain behind, he and his vizier set out alone upon their way.
First they passed through the royal gardens, but looked in vain for some living creature so that they might test the power of the powder. Then the vizier suggested they should visit a pond where he had frequently seen a number of storks disporting themselves, their dignified ways and hoarse cries having attracted his attention.
Immediately their legs began to shrink. (P. [14].)
The Caliph approved of his suggestion and accordingly they went to the pond. On their approach they noticed a stork walking gravely to and fro, searching for frogs, and now and again uttering loud cries; at the same time they saw, above them in the air, a second stork floating gracefully towards them.
“I wager my beard, Sire,” said the vizier, “these two long-legs will hold an amusing conversation together. What do you say to our transforming ourselves into storks?”
“The very thing,” answered the Caliph, “but first let us be very careful that we know the way to become men again. Let me see—we must bow three times towards the East, and say ‘Mutabor,’ and immediately I shall be the Caliph, and you my vizier. But for heaven’s sake do not laugh, otherwise all will be lost.”
As the Caliph spoke he saw the second stork slowly drop to earth, so he quickly drew his snuff-box from his girdle, took a pinch, offered the box to his vizier, who likewise snuffed the powder, whilst the pair of them cried simultaneously, ‘Mutabor!’
Immediately their legs began to shrink and to become thin and red, their beautiful yellow slippers turned into unshapely storks’ feet, their arms became wings, their necks shot up from between their shoulders to the length of an ell at least, their beards disappeared, and their bodies were covered with soft white feathers.
“You have a pretty beak, my lord vizier,” said the Caliph, as he stared in astonishment at his companion. “By the beard of the prophet, I have never seen such a sight in my life.”
“Many thanks,” replied the vizier bowing. “If I may be permitted to say so, you are almost better looking as a stork than a Caliph. But come, let us join our companions and find out if we really can understand stork language.”
In the meantime the other stork, which had just alighted, was pluming its feathers as it approached the first stork, so the two newly-made birds hastened to come up to them, and to their astonishment overheard the following extraordinary conversation.
“Good-morning, Mrs. Long-legs, how early you are up.”
“Ah, my dear Clapperbill! I just came out to get a snack; anything I can offer you, my dear, in the shape of a bit of lizard or a tit-bit of frog?”
“Thanks all the same, but I’ve really no appetite—I came here for quite a different reason—I have to dance to-day before my father’s guests, and I came here to practise a little by myself.”
With these words the young stork began to twist and turn about in the most ridiculous attitudes imaginable. The Caliph and Mansor stared at her in surprise, but when she stood on one foot, stretched out her wings and struck an attitude of supposed grace, she looked so absurd that they could no longer contain themselves, but burst out into hearty and prolonged laughter. It was some time before they could control themselves, but at length the Caliph stopped laughing, and said: “Oh! what a joke that was—I would not have missed it for any money. What a pity our laughter frightened the silly things away; they might otherwise have sung to us also.”
But suddenly the vizier remembered that they had been forbidden to laugh during the time of their transformation. He at once reminded the Caliph of this. “Mecca and Medina,” cried he, “it would be a bad joke indeed if we had to remain storks for the rest of our lives. See if you can remember the magic word, for upon my soul, I seem to have forgotten it.”
“We must bow three times towards the east and say ‘Mu-Mu-Mu—’”
No further could they get. They bowed and bowed until their beaks touched the ground, but try as they would they could not remember the magic word, and the unfortunate Caliph and his vizier were doomed to remain two storks.