Farewell, then, to every pleasure, to the entire world, and to the Barmakid dynasty’s reign. (1)

He said: Al-Rashid summoned the man and asked, “How much did Jaʿfar give you each year?”
He replied, “One thousand dinars.” So the Caliph ordered that he be given two thousand.

Al-Zubayr ibn Bakkār relates—on the authority of his uncle, Muṣʿab al-Zubayrī—that when al-Rashid slew Jaʿfar, a woman mounted on a fine donkey halted, and in eloquent speech declared, “By Allah, Jaʿfar, though today you have become a sign for all to ponder, you were once the very summit of noble deeds.” She then recited:

When I beheld the sword entangle Jaʿfar’s flesh
And a herald of the Caliph cry out against Yaḥyā,
I wept for this world, convinced at last
That a youth’s utmost span is but to quit it.
It is merely realm succeeding realm:
One man is granted favor, another affliction.
If it raises this one to the highest stations of rule,
It hurls that one to the furthest abyss.

He said: She then nudged her donkey and rode off; it was as though she were a gust of wind, leaving no trace, and no one knew where she went.

Ibn al-Jawzī ⦗2⦘ reports that Jaʿfar owned a slave-girl named Fatīnah, a singer without equal. He had purchased her, together with her attendants, for one hundred thousand dinars. Al-Rashid asked him to surrender her, but he refused. After killing Jaʿfar, the Caliph appropriated the girl, summoned her one night to his drinking session—attended by a gathering of his companions and night-time guests—and ordered the slave-girls with her to sing. Each performed in turn until Fatīnah’s turn came.

He commanded her to sing. She let her tears fall and said, “After the masters, never.” Al-Rashid flew into a rage and instructed one of those present to take her, having bestowed her upon him. As the man made to leave, the Caliph whispered, “Do not touch her,” and the man understood that he meant thereby to break her spirit.

Some time later al-Rashid had her brought in again, pretending to be reconciled. He ordered her to sing; she refused, tears streaming, and repeated, “After the masters, never.”

Al-Rashid grew even angrier than before and shouted, “The niṭʿ and the sword!” The executioner came and stood over her. The Caliph told him, “When I command you three times and press three fingers together, strike.” He then said, “Sing.”

She wept and replied, “After the masters, never.” He folded his little finger. He commanded her a second time; she still refused, and he folded two fingers. Those present trembled, pleading with her to sing so that she would not forfeit her life and so that she might obey the Commander of the Faithful. When he gave the order a third time, she began, reluctantly, to sing:

When I saw the dwellings laid in ruin,
I knew that bliss would never return.

Al-Rashid leapt toward her, snatched the lute from her hands, and struck her face and head with it until it splintered. Blood flowed, the slave-girls scattered in panic, and she was carried away from before him. She died three days later.