“The king without his crown
        Hath a forehead like the clown”;

and the circle of my head itcheth for the symbols of majesty.’

At these words of Shibli Bagarag they arose quickly and clapped their hands, and danced with the nimble step of gladness, exclaiming, ’O our King! pleasant will be the time with him!’ And one smoothed his head and poured oil upon it; one brought him garments of gold and silk inwoven; one fetched him slippers like the sun’s beam in brightness; others stood together in clusters, and with lutes and wood-instruments, low-toned, singing odes to him; and lo! one took a needle and threaded it, and gave the thread into the hands of Shibli Bagarag, and with the point of the needle she pricked certain letters on his right wrist, and afterwards pricked the same letters on a door in the wall.  Then she said to him, ’Is it in thy power to make those letters speak?’

He answered, ‘We will prove how that may be.’

So he flung some drops from the phial over the letters, and they glowed the colour of blood and flashed with a report, and it was as if a fiery forked-tongue had darted before them and spake the words written, and they were, ’This is the crown of him who bath achieved his aim and resteth here.’  Thereupon, she stuck the needle in the door, and he pulled the thread, and the door drew apart, and lo! a small chamber, and on a raised cushion of blue satin a glittering crown, thick with jewels as a frost, such as Ambition pineth to wear, and the knees of men weaken and bend beholding, and it lanced lights about it like a living sun.  Beside the cushion was a vacant throne, radiant as morning in the East, ablaze with devices in gold and gems, a seat to fill the meanest soul with sensations of majesty and tempt dervishes to the sitting posture.  Shibli Bagarag was intoxicated at the sight, and he thought, ’Wah! but if I sit on this throne and am a king, with that crown I can command men and things! and I have but to say, Fetch Noorna, my betrothed, from yonder pillar in the midst of the uproarious sea!—­Let the hairy Shagpat be shaved! and behold, slaves, thousands of them, do my bidding!  Wullahy, this is greatness!’ Now, he made a rush to the throne, but the damsels held him back, crying, ’Not for thy life till we have crowned thee, our master and lord!’

Then they took the crown and crowned him with it; and he sat upon the throne calmly, serenely, like a Sultan of the great race accustomed to sovereignty, tempering the awfulness of his brows with benignant glances.  So, while he sat the damsels hid their faces and started some paces from him, as unable to bear the splendour of his presence, and in a moment, lo! the door closed between him and them, and he was in darkness.  Then he heard a voice of the damsels cry in the hall, ’The ninety and ninth!  Peace now for us and blissfulness with our lords, for now all are filled save the door of the Sword, which maketh the hundredth.’  After that he heard the same voice say, ‘Leave them, O my sisters!’