“Shall I send for a monkey from the rock of Gibraltar, to divert you with his antics?”
“A monkey! faugh!” cried Zorayda; “the detestable mimic of man. I hate the nauseous animal.”
“What say you to the famous black singer Casem, from the royal harem, in Morocco? They say he has a voice as fine as a woman’s.”
“I am terrified at the sight of these black slaves,” said the delicate Zorahayda; “besides, I have lost all relish for music.”
“Ah! my child, you would not say so,” replied the old woman, slyly, “had you heard the music I heard last evening, from the three Spanish cavaliers whom we met on our journey. But bless me, children! what is the matter that you blush so and are in such a flutter?”
“Nothing, nothing, good mother; pray proceed.”
“Well; as I was passing by the Vermilion Towers last evening, I saw the three cavaliers resting after their day’s labor. One was playing on the guitar, so gracefully, and the others sang by turns; and they did it in such style, that the very guards seemed like statues, or men enchanted. Allah forgive me! I could not help being moved at hearing the songs of my native country. And then to see three such noble and handsome youths in chains and slavery!”
Here the kind-hearted old woman could not restrain her tears.
“Perhaps, mother, you could manage to procure us a sight of these cavaliers,” said Zayda.
“I think,” said Zorayda, “a little music would be quite reviving.”