‘The eunuchs obeyed. They soon discovered me. They tore me out from under the throne and dragged me to the feet of their master, who said, “O miserable creature! what boldness is thine! Has the town of Cairo not women enough for you that you do not respect my palace?”

‘I was not less frightened than the favourite. I almost fell into a swoon. I think if the same adventure were to happen to you at Bagdad and you were to find yourself surprised by the great Haroun-al-Raschid in his seraglio (forgive me this reflection, my lord), you would not perhaps be otherwise affected. I had not the strength to speak. I was on my knees before the sultan, and I only expected death. The prince drew his sabre, but just as he was about to strike, an old mulatto woman arrived who prevented him.

‘“What are you going to do, my lord?” she said to him. “Do not strike these miserable wretches; do not soil your hand with such abject blood. They are unworthy even that the earth should receive their bodies, since they have had the insolence, the one to be wanting in respect to you, and the other to betray you. Order them both to be thrown into the Nile, and let them serve as food for the fishes.”

‘The sultan followed this advice, and the eunuchs threw us into the Nile from the windows of a tower, the walls of which were washed by the river.

‘Although dazed by my fall, as I can swim very well, I gained the bank opposite the palace. Escaped from such a great danger, I remembered the young lady whom the fear of death had made me forget, and love in its turn triumphing over the fear of death, I re-entered the Nile with more ardour than that with which I had left it, and swam down its stream; and, as far as the darkness of the night would allow me to discern objects, I endeavoured to discover on the water the body of the unfortunate lady whose destruction I had caused. But I could see it nowhere, and feeling that my strength was beginning to give out, I was obliged to regain the bank in order to preserve a life which I was risking uselessly. I could not doubt but that the favourite had lost hers, and I was inconsolable at having her death to reproach myself with. I wept bitterly. “Alas!” I said, “but for me, but for my fatal love, Dardané, the beauti­ful Dardané, would be still alive! O, why did I come to Cairo? why, knowing that misfortune is contagious, did I seek the affection of so charming a person?” Overcome with grief at being the cause of her misfortune, and sojourn at Cairo being odious to me after this adventure, I took the road to Bagdad.

‘After several days’ journey, I arrived one evening at the foot of a mountain, behind which was a rather large town. I seated myself to rest on the banks of a stream, and I resolved to pass the night in this place. Sleep overcame me, and already the first rays of daylight were about to appear, when I heard at a few paces from me cries and groans which awoke me.

‘I listened attentively, and it seemed to me that these cries came from a woman who was being ill-treated. I rose immediately, and, advanc­ing in the direction of the cries, I saw a man dig­ging a ditch with a spade. I hid myself in a bush to watch him. I observed that having made the ditch, he put in it something which he covered with earth, and that he then went away. Day having dawned almost at that moment, I approached to see what it was. I removed the earth, and found a large sack all blood-stained, in which there was a young girl who seemed about to breathe her last sigh. Her clothes, although covered with blood, did not prevent my judging her to be a person of quality. “What cruel hand,” I cried, overcome with horror and compassion, “what barbarian can have ill-treated this young woman? May Heaven punish this assassin.”

‘The lady, whom I thought unconscious, heard these words, and said, “O Mussulman! be chari­table enough to succour me! If you love your Creator, give me a drop of water to appease the thirst which consumes me, and to relieve my great pain.”

‘I ran immediately to the fountain and filled my turban with water, which I brought to her. She drank it, and then opening her eyes, she looked at me.

‘“O young man,” she said to me, “who come so timely to my assistance, endeavour to stop my blood. I do not think my wounds are mortal. Save my life: you will not regret it.”

‘I tore up my turban and a part of my vest, and when I had bandaged her wounds, “Extend your charity still further,” she said to me; “carry me into the town and have my wounds dressed.”

‘“Fair lady,” I said, “I am a stranger, I know no one in this town. If I am asked how I come to be in charge of a wounded maiden, what answer must I make?”

‘“Say that I am your sister,” she replied, “and do not fear the rest.”

‘I took the lady on my back. I carried her into the town and went to a caravanserai, where I had a bed prepared for her. I sent for a surgeon, who dressed her wounds and who assured me that they were not dangerous. In fact, she was cured at the end of a month. When she was conva­lescent she asked for paper and ink. She wrote a letter, and putting it in my hands: “Go,” she said to me, “to the place where the merchants assemble, ask for Mahyar, present my letter to him, take what he gives you and return.”

‘I carried the letter to Mahyar. He read it with much attention, kissed it very respectfully and placed it on his head. He then drew out two great purses full of gold sequins which he gave me. I took them and returned to the lady, who charged me to hire a house. I took one and we both went to lodge there. As soon as we had arrived there, she wrote a second letter to Mahyar, who gave me four purses filled with gold pieces. I bought, by order of the lady, clothes for her and for me, with some slaves to wait on us.

‘I passed in the quarter for the brother of the lady, and I lived with her as if it had been so in reality, although she was a very beautiful person. Dardané occupied my thoughts unceasingly, and far from giving myself up to new loves, I wished more than once to leave the lady, but she begged me not to abandon her. “Wait, young man,” she said to me, “I still have need of you for some time. I will soon tell you who I am, and I mean to reward well the services you have rendered me.”

‘So I lived on with her, and I did out of pure generosity all that she asked of me. However desirous I was of knowing why she had been wounded, it was not possible to get her to tell me. It was in vain that I often gave her occasion to relate her story to me; she kept a profound silence on the subject instead of satisfying my curiosity.

‘“Go,” she said to me one day, presenting me with a purse full of sequins, “go and find a merchant called Namahran. Tell him that you wish to buy some beautiful stuffs. He will show you several kinds. Choose some pieces and pay for them with­out bargaining. Be very affable to him, and bring me the stuffs.”

‘I inquired for Namahran’s dwelling; it was pointed out to me. He was seated in his shop. I saw a man of very fine figure whose hair was in small waves and black as jet. He had beautiful earrings and large diamonds on all his fingers. I seated myself beside him. I asked for stuffs; he had several pieces shown to me. I chose three of them; he put the price on them. I counted out the money to him. I rose and after having taken leave of him very civilly, I had the stuffs carried away by a slave who followed me.

‘Two days after, the lady gave me another purse and told me to return to Namahran to buy other stuffs. “But remember,” she added, “that you must not bargain. Whatever he asks you, do not fail to give it to him.”

‘As soon as the merchant saw me coming and knew what brought me, he spread before me his richest stuffs. I stopped at those which pleased me, and when it came to paying I threw my purse to Namahran, telling him to take what he wished. He was charmed with this noble proceeding.

‘“My lord,” he said, “would you not one day do me the honour of coming to dine with me?”

‘“Very willingly,” I replied, “and that to-morrow if you wish it.”

‘The merchant signified that it would give him much pleasure.

‘When I told the lady that Namahran had invited me to dine with him, she seemed transported with joy.

‘“Do not fail to go,” she said, “and to beg him to come here to-morrow. Tell him that you wish to regale him in your turn. I will take care to have a superb feast prepared.”

‘I did not know what to think of the joy she expressed. I saw that she had some plan, but I was very far from realising it.

‘I went on the following day to the merchant, who received and treated me perfectly well. Before separating I told him of my place of abode, and that I wanted also to entertain him at dinner on the following day.