“My lord,” answered I, in a feeble voice, “leave your slave and go to those who can teach their tongues to lie. I have never deceived you, although I may have displeased you. I have loved you with fidelity and truth. Now that you have witnessed what I can suffer rather than be guilty of falsehood, you ought to believe me. Take my life, my lord, and I will bless you; for I have lost you, and with you I have lost more than life.”
“Not so, Zara,” replied the sultan; “I love you more than ever.”
“I am glad to hear you say so, my lord, although it is now of no avail. I am no longer yours, and never will be. I am unfit to be yours; my person has been contaminated by the touch of Ethiopian slaves—it has been polluted by the hand of the executioner—it has been degraded by a chastisement due only to felons. Oblige me, as a last proof of your kindness, by taking a life which is a burthen to me.”
Despot as he was, the sultan was much moved; he was mortified at having yielded to his temper, and his passionate affection for me had returned. He intreated my pardon, shed tears over me, kissed my swelled feet, and humiliated himself so much, that my heart relented—for I loved him dearly still.
“Zara,” exclaimed he, at last, “will you not forgive me?”
“When, my lord, have I ever shown myself jealous? True love is above jealousy. This evening, to please you, although I have lately been neglected, did I not request your new favourite to meet you? In return, I was grossly insulted by neglect, and studied attentions to her. I was piqued, and revenged myself—for I am but a woman. I was wrong in so doing, but having told the truth, I was right in not retracting what I had said. Now that you have degraded me—now that you have rendered me unworthy of you, you ask me to forgive you.”
“And again I implore it, my dearest Zara!”
“There are my jewels, my lord. I have no other property but what I have received, and cherished as presents from you. Your treasurer well knows that. Take my jewels, my lord, and present them to her, they will make her more beautiful in your sight—to me they are now worthless. Go to her, and in a few days you will forget that ever there was such a person as the unhappy, the neglected, the disgraced, and polluted Zara.” And I burst into tears, for even with all his ill usage, I was miserable at the idea of parting with him; for what will not a woman forgive to a man who has obtained her favour and her love?
“What can I do to prove that I repent?” cried the sultan. “Tell me, Zara. I have supplicated for pardon, what more can I do?”
“Let my lord efface all traces and memory of my degradation. Was not I struck by two vile slaves, who will babble through the city? Was not I held down by an executioner? These arms, which have wound round the master of the world, and no other, polluted by his gripe.”