‘Yes.’
‘The men are shut up there,’ said the Princess with a smile, ‘are they not? and the women do what they like?’
‘You will always do what you like,’ said Honain, rising.
‘You are going?’
‘My visits must not be too long.’
‘Farewell, dear Honain!’ said the Princess, with a melancholy air. ‘You are the only person who has an idea in all Bagdad, and you leave me. A miserable lot is mine, to feel everything, and be nothing. These books and flowers, these sweet birds, and this fair gazelle: ah! poets may feign as they please, but how cheerfully would I resign all these elegant consolations of a captive life for one hour of freedom! I wrote some verses on myself yesterday; take them, and get them blazoned for me by the finest scribe in the city; letters of silver on a violet ground with a fine flowing border; I leave the design to you. Adieu! Come hither, mute.’ Alroy advanced to her beckon, and knelt. ‘There, take that rosary for thy master’s sake, and those dark eyes of thine.’
The companions withdrew, and reached their boat in silence. It was sunset. The musical and sonorous voice of the Muezzin resounded from the innumerable minarets of the splendid city. Honain threw back the curtains of the barque. Bagdad rose before them in huge masses of sumptuous dwellings, seated amid groves and gardens. An infinite population, summoned by the invigorating twilight, poured forth in all directions. The glowing river was covered with sparkling caiques, the glittering terraces with showy groups. Splendour, and power, and luxury, and beauty were arrayed before them in their most captivating forms, and the heart of Alroy responded to their magnificence. ‘A glorious vision!’ said the Prince of the Captivity.
‘Very different from Hamadan,’ said the physician of the Caliph.
‘To-day I have seen wonders,’ said Alroy.
‘The world is opening to you,’ said Honain.