The sultan was white with rage; my life hung upon a thread; when the Circassian maliciously observed, “The bastinado might induce her to retract.”
“And shall,” exclaimed the sultan, clapping his hands.
The kislar aga appeared, in obedience to the sultan’s orders; the executioner of the harem, and two slaves, stretched me on the floor—I made no resistance or complaint; my jewelled slippers were taken off, and all was ready for the disgraceful punishment.
“Now, Zara, will you retract?” said the sultan, solemnly.
“No, my lord, I will not. I repeat, that you have a wen under your left arm.”
“Strike,” cried the sultan, in a paroxysm of rage. The bamboos fell, and I received a dozen blows. I bore them without a cry; I was too much choked by my feelings.
“Now, Zara, will you retract?” exclaimed the sultan, in a subdued tone.
“Never, sultan; I will prove to you that a woman has more courage than you may imagine; if I die under the punishment, my rival shall not have even the pleasure of a groan. You ask me to retract. I will not swerve from the truth. You have, and you know you have, and so does that vile parasite by your side know that you have a wen under your left arm.” I was faint with the pain, and my voice was weak and trembling.
“Proceed,” said the sultan.
When I had received thirty blows, I fainted with the agony, and the sultan ordered them to desist. “I trust, Zara, you are now sufficiently punished for your disobedience.” But I heard him not; and when the sultan perceiving that I did not reply, looked at me, his heart melted. He felt how arbitrary, how cruel he had been. The Circassian went to him; he ordered her, in a voice of thunder, to be gone, me to be unbound by the other ladies, laid on the sofa, and restoratives to be procured. When I came to my senses, I found myself alone with the sultan. “Oh Zara,” said he, as the tears stood in his eyes, “why did you tempt me thus—why were you so obstinate?”