A changed man then was Abu Hasan. He arose and went forth, no longer young, and withdrew from its safe keeping the remaining half of his fortune. With a part of this—being still a man of wealth—he purchased a mansion and filled it with all manner of delights till it was fit to charm the heart of the caliph himself; and there he dwelt in luxury, as befitted a man of his station. But, having purchased a fragment of wisdom at the price of half his original fortune, he resolved to make use of it. He would have done with friends and have to do only with strangers, and these, moreover, should remain strangers, for his associationship with any one of them should be for one night only;—at dawn 'Farewell! Henceforth I know you not; for I have been sorely bit by friends; by strangers never.'
In the evenings, when the purple twilight fell upon Baghdad, Abu Hasan would take up a position at the end of the great bridge, and there, sooner or later, he would accost a stranger, pressing upon him a warm invitation to spend the night under his roof, and promising him the best of entertainment. Indeed, being of a gay and merry disposition, he sought even to choose one of a melancholy cast, so that he might exercise his wit upon him and cause his face to shine with mirth. In the morning he would send his guest away with his blessing, having explained to him the nature of his oath and exacted his promise to regard him henceforth as a perfect stranger. 'And so, farewell! May God conduct you in safe and pleasant ways!'
For a long time he behaved in this manner, providing the best of entertainment and adhering closely to his oath. At length there came an evening when he was waiting as usual on the bridge, and it chanced that the caliph of Baghdad himself came by, disguised as a merchant—a favourite amusement of his when he wished to traverse the ways of the city and see how his people fared. Abu Hasan looked at him as he passed, and taking him, by his dress and the stout slave following him, for a merchant from Moussul, and therefore a stranger in the city, he accosted him.
'Sir,' he said, saluting gracefully, 'permit me to compliment you on your happy arrival in Baghdad. Not, indeed, to show you that this is a hospitable city, but rather that I may have the honour of your company at my house, I beg that you will accept my invitation to come and sup with me and rest yourself after the fatigue of your journey.'
The caliph, always in the mood for an adventure, accepted gladly, and together they repaired to Hasan's abode, the slave following after. When they arrived they found supper laid for two, and in the most sumptuous style. Hasan, treating his guest with every courtesy, seated him in the place of honour.
The apartment was most luxurious. On one side trickled streams of water through silver channels half hidden among rare ferns. On another side golden fountains played in cool grottoes, and, over all, a soft light falling from a wonderful lamp overhead wrapped the richness of the place in a dreamy glamour.
Towards the end of the repast a beautiful slave-girl floated in with her lute and sang a song of love, inspired by the soft languor of the night. And the caliph wondered concerning his host: what manner of man was he to entertain so royally?
When supper was over, and everything cleared away, Hasan arose, and, having lighted a number of candles to throw a brighter light on the scene, spread a rich wine-cloth and brought out his rarest wines. He did these things himself, because it was always his whim after supper to play the servant to his guest as if he were a royal personage.
'My master,' he said, filling a golden goblet with wine and raising it to the caliph, 'I make you free of all ceremony. I am thy faithful servitor, and may I never have to grieve thy loss.' With this he drank the wine and then filled another goblet for his guest. 'I warrant you will find it good,' he said, handing it to him on bended knee.