‘This is the time of feasting, pleasure, and rejoicing. Let no person reprimand or complain of another: let not the rich insult the poor, or the strong the weak: let no one ask another, “why have you done this ?”’
Millions of people were collected in this Paradise. They rejoiced, they feasted, they frolicked, they danced, they sang. They listened to the tales of the Arabian story-teller, at once enchanted and enchanting, or melted to the strain of the Persian poet as he painted the moon-lit forehead of his heroine and the wasting and shadowy form of his love-sick hero; they beheld with amazement the feats of the juggler of the Ganges, or giggled at the practised wit and the practical buffoonery of the Syrian mime. And the most delighted could still spare a fascinating glance to the inviting gestures and the voluptuous grace of the dancing girls of Egypt.[68] Everywhere reigned melody and merriment, rarity and beauty. For once mankind forgot their cares, and delivered themselves up to infinite enjoyment.
‘I grow courteous,’ said Kisloch the Kourd, assisting a party into one of the shows.
‘And I humane,’ said Calidas the Indian. ‘Fellow, how dare you violate the proclamation, by thrashing that child?’ He turned to one of the stewards of the table, who was belabouring the unfortunate driver of a camel which had stumbled and in its fall had shivered its burden, two panniers of porcelain.
‘Mind your own business, fellow,’ replied the steward, ‘and be thankful that for once in your life you can dine.’
‘Is this the way to speak to an officer?’ said Calidas the Indian; ‘I have half a mind to cut your tongue out.’
‘Never mind, little fellow,’ said the Guebre, ‘here is a dirhem for you. Run away and be merry.’
‘A miracle!’ grinned the Negro; ‘he giveth alms.’
‘And you are witty,’ rejoined the Guebre. ‘‘Tis a wondrous day.’
‘What shall we do?’ said Kisloch.