The chamberlain went to the King, and said, “There is a minstrel at the gate; he has a harp in his hand, and his voice is marvelously sweet.”

“Bring him up,” said the King.

So they brought him in, and gave him a place among the musicians, and commanded that he should give them a trial of his powers.  So the minstrel, after playing a prelude on his harp, sang a song of the land of the Genii.

“There is no land in all the world” this was the substance of his song—­“like Mazanderan, the land of the Genii.  All the year round the rose blooms in its gardens and the hyacinth on its hills.  It knows no heat nor cold, only an eternal spring.  The nightingales sing in its thicket, and through its valleys wander the deer, and the water of its stream is as the water of roses, delighting the soul with its perfume.  Of its treasures there is no end; the whole country is covered with gold and embroidery and jewels.  No man can say that he is happy unless he has seen Mazanderan.”

When the King heard this song, he immediately conceived the thought of marching against this wonderful country.  Turning, therefore, to his warriors, he said:  “We are given over to feasting; but the brave must not suffer himself to rest in idleness.  I am wealthier and, I doubt not, stronger than all the kings that have gone before me; it becomes me also to surpass them in my achievements.  We will conquer the land of Genii.”

The warriors of the King were little pleased to hear such talk from his lips.  No one ventured to speak, but their hearts were full of trouble and fear, for they had no desire to fight against the Genii.

“We are your subjects, O King,” they said, “and will do as you desire.”  But when they were by themselves, and could speak openly, they said one to another, “What a trouble is this that has come of our prosperous fortune!  Unless by good fortune the King forgets this purpose of his, we and the whole country are lost.  Jemshid, whom the Genii and the Peris and the very birds of the air used to obey, never ventured to talk in this fashion of Mazanderan, or to seek war against the Genii; and Feridun, though he was the wisest of kings, and skilful in all magical arts, never cherished such a plan.”  So they sat, overwhelmed with anxiety.

At last one of them said, “My friends, there is only one way of escaping from this danger.  Let us send a swift dromedary to Zal of the white hair, with this message:  ’Though your head be covered with dust, do not stay to wash it, but come.’  Perhaps Zal will give the King wise advice, and, telling him that this plan of his is nothing but a counsel of Satan, will persuade him to change his purpose.  Otherwise we are lost, small and great.”

The nobles listened to this advice, and sent a messenger to Zal, mounted on a swift dromedary.

When Zal heard what had happened, he said: