Still wondering greatly as to the extent of my learning and intelligence, the King called for a chessboard; and, setting it before me, questioned me by signs as to whether I understood the game. By way of assent, I kissed the ground, and humbly seated myself before the board. Now my name, as a chessplayer, had gone forth through all lands, but it still remained for me, as an ape, to justify that name. Solemn and silent we sat at the board—the King of a vast territory matching his skill (of which I had heard, as he had heard of mine, from afar) against that of an ape. Knowing all the science of the game, much of which I had myself discovered, I tested his skill by various openings, saying within myself, “This game I will not win, provided that I learn his measure.” It so fell out that I lost, and the King, noting the character of my play, was pleased at his success. “Another game,” said he, resetting the pieces.
This time, knowing his play, I held back in my moves, and awaited his openings. At length he made one which I knew, for I myself had invented it. “That,” said he, “is the opening of Prince Eymar, whose treatise I have studied. I will allow thee a space to study it, and reply.” What was his surprise when I replied immediately with the counter move! At that, from excess of wonder, he was unstrung, and, knowing not the following moves as well as I, he lost. Again we played, a third time, and I, seeing from his eagerness that he had still something to spring upon me, fell in with his moves until we reached the position which was the crowning point of my treatise. At length it came to a pass which I well knew. There was only one way out—a pawn in a distant corner of the board. I moved it readily. “By Allah!” he cried, upsetting the board with all that was on it, “thou art the most intelligent—as well as the ugliest—ape I ever saw.” Then, to appease him, I bethought myself of the battlefield of sixty-four squares, and wrote the following stanza on the edge of the board:
Two armies met and fought, and in the fight
Were many slain;
Yet peace succeeded; and that night
Each drank success to each,
And drank again.
During all this, the perplexity of the King had waxed greater and greater. At length, in order that his wonder might be shared by another, he sent for his only daughter—the Lady of Beauty—in order that she might witness these unheard of doings of an ape. No sooner had she entered the apartment than she hastily adjusted her veil. “Sire,” said she, “why dost thou summon me thus into the presence of men?” “Nay, O my daughter,” answered the King, “there is none here but myself, a eunuch, a slave, and this ape.” Her fingers fastened her veil more closely as she replied, “O my father, this that thou callest an ape is no ape at all. Thou knowest I have the gift against enchantment, and I tell thee this is a man, the son of a king, and his name is Prince Eymar. He hath been transformed into this shape by a son of Iblis. Sire, I know this from the teaching of my old nurse, who instructed me in the seventy rules of magic.”
The King was amazed at his daughter’s words, and, looking towards me, said, “I can readily believe that thou art Eymar, for none other could beat me twice at chess. What sayest thou?” And I bowed my head, signifying that what had been said was true, and I wept bitterly. Then said the King to the Lady of Beauty, “O my daughter, if thou hast this power of discernment, which I knew not, perchance thou hast the power also to undo the enchantment wrought upon this Prince. If thou canst, I am minded to make him my Grand Vizier, for there is none like him.” And she replied, “O my father, I know, and I am able. Witness what I shall do.”