英文
The Sheik's Palace and His Slaves
Ali Banu, Sheik of Alessandria, was a singular man. When he passed down the street of a morning, with a superb cashmere turban wound about his head, and clad in a festival habit, and sash worth not less than fifty camels, walking with slow and solemn steps, his forehead so contracted that his eyebrows met, his eyes cast down, and at every fifth step stroking his long black beard with a thoughtful air—when he thus took his way to the mosque,to give readings from the Koran to the Faithful,as required by his office; then the people on the street paused, looked after him, and said to one another:
“He is really a handsome, stately man.”
“And rich, a rich gentleman,” another added; “extremely wealthy;has he not a palace on the harbor of Stamboul? Has he not estates and lands, and many thousand head of cattle, and a great number of slaves?”
“Yes,” spoke up a third, “and the Tartar who was recently sent here from Stamboul, with a message for the sheik from the sultan (may the Prophet preserve him), told me that our sheik was thought highly of by the minister of foreign affairs, by the lord high admiral, by all the ministers, in fact; yes, even by the sultan.”
“Yes,” exclaimed a fourth, “fortune attends his steps. He is a wealthy distinguished gentleman; but—but—you know what I mean!”
“Yes, certainly,” interrupted the others, “it is true he has his burden to carry, and I wouldn’t care to change places with him. He is rich, and a man of rank, but, but—”
Ali Banu had a splendid house on the finest square in Alessandria. In front of the house was a broad terrace, surrounded by a marble wall, and shaded by palm trees. Here the sheik often sat of an evening smoking his nargileh. At a respectable distance, twelve richly costumed slaves awaited his orders; one carried his betel, another held his parasol, a third had vessels of solid gold filled with rare sherbet, a fourth carried a fan of peacock's feathers to drive away the flies from his master's person, others were singers and carried lutes and wind instruments to entertain him with music when he so desired, while the best educated of them all carried scrolls from which to read to their master.
But they waited in vain for him to signify his pleasure. He desired neither music nor song; he did not wish to hear passages or poems from the wise poets of the past; he would not taste of the sherbet, nor chew of the betel; and even the slave with the fan had his labor for his pains, as the master was indifferent to the flies that buzzed about him.
The passers-by often stopped and wondered over the splendor of the house, at the richly dressed slaves, and the signs of comfort that prevailed every-where; but when their eyes fell on the sheik, sitting so grave and melancholy under the palms, with his gaze never once wandering from the little blue clouds of his nargileh, they shook their heads and said:
“Truly, this rich man is a poor man. He, who has so much, is poorer than one who has nothing; for the Prophet has not given him the sense to enjoy it.”
Thus spake the people, they laughed at him and passed on.
One evening, as the sheik again sat under the palms before his door, in all his pomp, some young men standing in the street looked at him and laughed.
“Truly,” said one, “Sheik Ali Banu is a foolish man; had I his wealth, I should make a different use of it. Every day I would live sumptuously and in joy; my friends should dine with me in the large salons of the house, and song and laughter should fill these sad halls.”
“Yes,” rejoined another, “all that might be very fine; but many friends would make short work of a fortune, even were it as large as that of the sultan whom the Prophet preserve; but if I sat there under the palms, fronting this beautiful square, my slaves should sing and play, my dancers should come and dance and leap and furnish all sorts of entertainment. Then, too, I should take pleasure in smoking the nargileh, should be served with the costly sherbet, and enjoy myself in all this like a king of Bagdad.”
“The sheik,” said a third young man, who was a writer, “should be a wise and learned man;and really his lectures on the Koran show him to be a man of extensive reading; But is his life ordered as is beseeming in a man of sense? There stands a slave, with an armful of scrolls; I would give my best suit of clothes just to read one of them, for they are certainly rare treasures. But he! Why, he sits and smokes, and leaves books—books—alone! If I were Sheik Ali Banu, the fellow should read to me until he was entirely out of breath, or until night came on, and even then he should read to me till I had fallen asleep.”
“Ha! you will grant that my plan for enjoying life is the best,”laughed a fourth. “Eating and drinking, dancing and singing, hearing the tales and poems of miserable authors! No, I would have it all another way. He has the finest of horses and camels, and abundance of money. In his place, I would travel—travel to the ends of the earth, to the Muscovites, to the Franks; no distance should prevent my seeing the wonders of the world. That's what I would do, if I were that man yonder.”
“Youth is a beautiful season, and the age at which one is joyful,”said an old man, of insignificant appearance, who stood near them, and had overheard their conversation. “But permit me to say that youth is also foolish, and talks thoughtlessly now and then without knowing what it says.”
“What were you saying, old man?” asked the young men in surprise.“Did you mean us? How does it concern you, if we find fault with the sheik's mode of life?”
“If one is better informed than another, he should correct the other's errors; so says the Prophet,” rejoined the old man. “The sheik, it is true, is blessed with plenty, and has every thing that the heart could desire; yet he has reason to be sad and melancholy. Did you suppose he was always thus? No; fifteen years ago he was cheerful and active as the gazelle, lived merrily, and enjoyed life. At that time he had a son, the joy of his life, handsome and talented, and those who saw and heard him talk envied the sheik his idol, for he was not more than ten years old, and yet there were few youths of eighteen as well educated.”
“And he died? The poor sheik!” cried the young writer.
“It would be a consolation to the sheik to know that he had gone to the mansions of the Prophet, where he would be better off than here in Alessandria; but that which the sheik had to suffer is far worse. It was at the time when the Franks, like hungry wolves, invaded our land, and waged war against us. They took Alessandria, and from here they went on further and attacked the Mamelukes. The sheik was a wise man, and understood how to get along with the enemy. But whether it was because they had designs on his treasure, or because he had taken the Faithful into his house, I do not know for a certainty; but they came one day to him and accused him of having secretly supplied the Mamelukes with provisions, horses and weapons. It was of no use that he proved his innocence, for the Franks are a rough, hardhearted people, when it is a question of extorting money. They took his young son, Kairam, as a hostage to their camp. The sheik offered a large sum of money for his return, but they held on to the boy for a still higher bid. In the meantime they received an order from their pasha, or whatever his title might be, to embark on their vessels. Not a soul in Alessandria knew a thing about it, and all at once they were seen standing out to sea, having, it is believed, taken little Kairam with them, as nothing has ever been heard of him since.”
“Oh, the poor man! How terribly Allah has chastened him!” the young men exclaimed in concert, looking with pity at the sheik, who, with such magnificent surroundings, sat sad and lonely under the palms.
“His wife, whom he loved so dearly, died from grief at the loss of her son. The sheik then bought a ship, fitted it out, and induced the Frank physician who lives down there by the fountain, to sail with him to the country of the Franks, to search for young Kairam. They set sail, and had a long passage before reaching the land of those Giaours, those Infidels, who had been in Alessandria. But there every thing was in a horrible tumult. They had just beheaded their sultan; and the pashas and the rich and the poor were now engaged in taking each other's heads off, and there was no order or law in the land. Their search for little Kairam was a vain one, and the Frank physician finally advised the sheik to embark for home, as their own heads might be endangered by a longer stay.
“So they came back again; and since their arrival the sheik has lived just as he does today, mourning for his son. And he is in the right. Must he not think, whenever he eats and drinks: ‘Perhaps at this moment my poor Kairam hungers and thirsts?’
“And when he has arranged himself in costly shawls, and holiday suits, as required by his office and rank, must he not think: ‘He has probably nothing now with which to cover his nakedness?’ And when he is surrounded by singers, dancers, readers, who are all his slaves, does he not think: ‘Now my son may be dancing and making music for his master in the Frank's country, just as he is ordered?’ But what pains him most is the fear lest little Kairam, being so far from the land of his fathers, and surrounded by Infidels who jest at his religion, may become separated from the faith of his fathers, so that he will not at the last be able to embrace him in the gardens of paradise.
“This is what makes him so mild with his slaves, and prompts his large gifts to the poor; for he believes that Allah will recompense him by moving the heart of his son's master to treat Kairam with kindness. Also, on each anniversary of his son's abduction, he sets twelve slaves free.”
“I have heard of that,” said the writer. “One hears curious stories floating about; but no mention was made to me of the son. But, on the other hand, it is said that the sheik is a singular man, and remarkably fond of stories, and that every year he institutes a story-telling match between his slaves, and the one who tells the best story is rewarded with his freedom.”
“Don’t put any faith in these reports,” said the old man. “It is just as I have told you; it is, however, possible that he seeks the relaxation afforded by a story, on this day of painful recollections; but still he frees the slaves on his son's account. But the night is cold, and I have far to go. Schalem aleikum—peace be with you, young gentlemen, and think better, in the future, of the good sheik.”
The young people thanked the old man for the information he had given them, glanced once more at the sorrowing father, and walked away saying to one another: “On the whole, I should not care to be the Sheik Ali Banu.”
Not long afterward, it so happened that these same young men passed down the street at the hour of morning prayers. The old man and his story recurred to their minds, and they expressed their sympathy for the sheik as they looked up at his house. But how astonished were they to find the house and grounds gaily decorated! From the roof, where comely slave women were promenading, banners waved; the porch of the house was covered with costly carpets; silks were laid down over the steps, and beautiful cloth, of a texture so fine that most people would have been glad to have a holiday suit cut from it, was spread well into the street.
“Hey! How the sheik has changed in the last few days!” exclaimed the young writer. “Is he about to give a banquet? Will he test the powers of his singers and dancers? Only look at this carpet! Is there another as fine in all Alessandria? And this cloth laid right on the ground; really that is too wasteful!”
“Do you know what I think?” said another. “He must be going to receive some guest of high rank; for these are preparations such as are made when a ruler of a great country or a minister of the sultan blesses a house with his presence. Who can possibly be coming today?”
“Look! Is not that our old friend below? He would be able to give us some information about this. Ho, there! Old gentleman! Can’t you come up here a moment?”
The old man noticed their gestures, and approached them, recognizing them as the young men with whom he had conversed some days before. They called his attention to the changes in the sheik's house, and asked him if he knew what distinguished guest was expected.
“You seem to think,” replied he, “that Ali Banu has arranged for some festivities, or that he is to be honored by the visit of some great man. Such is not the case; but to-day is the twelfth day of the month of Ramadan, as you know, and is the day on which his son was taken prisoner.”
“But by the beard of the Prophet!” exclaimed one of the young fellows; “everything there has the appearance of a wedding or other festival; and still it is the anniversary of his greatest sorrow. Come, how will you harmonize this discrepancy? Confess that the sheik is somewhat shattered in mind.”
“Do you always render such a hasty verdict, my young friend?”asked the old man, smiling. “This time also your arrow was pointed and sharp, and the string of your bow drawn tight; and yet your arrow flew wide of the mark. Know, then, that to-day the sheik expects his son!”
“Then he is found?” shouted the young men joyfully.
“No, and it will probably be a long time before he is found. But listen: Eight or ten years ago, as the sheik was passing this anniversary in sorrow and lamentations, also freeing slaves and giving food and drink to the poor, it so happened that he also gave food and drink to a dervish, who, tired and faint, lay in the shadow of his house. Now the dervish was a holy man, and experienced in prophecies and the signs of the stars. After his refreshment by the kind hand of the sheik, he went up to him and said: ‘I know the cause of your sorrow; is not today the twelfth of Ramadan, and was it not on this day that you lost your son? But cheer up, for this day of sadness shall be changed to one of joy; know that on this same day your son will sometime return to you.’
“Thus spake the dervish. It would be a sin for a Mussulman to doubt the word of such a man, and although the sorrow of Ali Banu may not have been lessened thereby, yet he continues to look for the return of his son on this day, and adorns his house and porch and steps as though little Kairam might arrive at any moment.”
“Wonderful!” exclaimed the writer. “But I should like to see the decorations inside the house, and note how the sheik bears himself amongst all this splendor; but, above all, I should like to listen to the tales that are related to him by his slaves.”
“Nothing easier to arrange than that,” replied the old man. “The steward of the slaves of that house has been my friend these many years, and would not grudge me a seat in the salon, where, among the crowd of servants and friends of the sheik, a single stranger would not be noticed. I will speak to him about letting you in; there are only four of you, and it might be arranged. Come at the ninth hour to this square, and I will give you an answer.”
The young men returned their thanks, and went away full of curiosity to see how all this would end.
The young men were on hand at the appointed hour, and on the square before the sheik's house they met the old man, who told them that the steward would admit them. He went before them, not by way of the decorated steps and gate, but through a little side gate, that he closed carefully after them. Then he led them through many passages until they came to the large salon. Here there was a great crowd on all sides; there were richly dressed men of rank of the city—friends of the sheik, who had come to console him in his sorrow. There were slaves of every race and nation. But everybody wore a sorrowful expression, for they all loved their master and shared his grief.At one end of the salon, on a costly divan, sat the nearest friends of Ali Banu, who were waited upon by slaves. Near them, on the floor, sat the sheik, whose grief would not permit him to sit in state. His head was supported in his hands, and he seemed to be paying little attention to the consolations whispered to him by his friends. Opposite him sat some old and young men in slave costume. The old man informed his young friends that these were the slaves whom Ali Banu would free to-day. Among them were some Franks;and the old man called his friends’ special attention to one of them, who was of extraordinary beauty, and was still quite young. The sheik had recently bought him, for an enormous sum, from some slave-dealers of Tunis, and was, notwithstanding his high cost, about to set him free, believing that the more Franks he returned to their fatherland the sooner the Prophet would restore his son.
After refreshments had been handed around, the sheik gave a sign to the steward, who now stood up amid the deep silence that prevailed in the room. He stepped before the slaves who were shortly to be freed, and said in a clear voice:
“Men, who will receive your freedom to-day, through the grace of my master Ali Banu, Sheik of Alessandria, conform now to the custom of this house on this day, and begin your narratives.”
After much whispering among themselves, an old slave arose and began his story.
中文
亚历山大城总督和他的奴隶
亚历山大城的总督阿里·巴努是个怪人。每天清晨，他缠着用精美绝伦的印度克什米尔绸制成的头巾，身穿大礼服，腰系价值五十头骆驼的华贵饰带，皱额蹙眉，低垂双眼，慢吞吞地、架子十足地走过城里的一条条街道，每走五步就要若有所思地捋一捋他那又黑又长的胡须；他这么走向清真寺，准备按照他的地位的要求，在那里向穆斯林们宣讲《可兰经》——每当这时，街上的行人便会停下脚步目送着他，并议论开来：
“真是个仪表堂堂、气度不凡的男子啊。”
“而且有钱，是个富翁。”还多半有谁会补充，“大大的富翁！在伊斯坦布尔港他不还有一座宫殿吗？他不还有许多的庄园、田产，以及成千上万的牲畜和奴隶吗？”
“可不！”第三个道，“那个最近从伊斯坦布尔来的鞑靼人，那个由王爷——先知保佑他——亲自派来的鞑靼人，他就告诉我，咱们总督在莱斯-厄分迪跟前，在卡皮芝-巴什跟前，在所有大人跟前，是的，甚至在苏丹的宫中，都深受器重。”
“可不！”第四个嚷嚷，“他真是平步青云。他有钱又有势，只不过——只不过，你们知道我想讲什么！”
“是啊，是啊！”众人嘀嘀咕咕，七嘴八舌，“说实在的，他确实也有自己的烦恼，叫咱和他换个位置咱还不干啊。他确实是个有钱有势的老爷；不过，不过……”
阿里·巴努在亚历山大城最漂亮的地区有一座豪华的宅邸。宅子跟前，棕榈荫下，是一个用大理石砌成的宽阔阳台；傍晚，他便常常坐在上边抽他的水烟袋。在显示出敬重的距离之外，立着十二名盛装的奴隶，准备随时将他伺候：一个替他捧着槟榔叶；一个打着太阳伞；第三个拿着一个用黄金打造的罐子，罐内盛着高级土耳其清凉饮料；第四个手执孔雀翎编的拂尘，为他驱赶近旁的苍蝇。余下的则是些伶人，全备有吹弹的乐器，时刻能满足他欣赏音乐的要求；其中，最有学问的那个奴隶则挟着一些经卷，准备朗诵给主人听。
然而，奴隶们却只是白白等着他的指示。他既不要求奏乐歌唱，也不想听那些睿智的古代诗哲的格言和诗句；既不想喝清凉饮料，也不愿嚼槟榔叶。是的，甚至连那个举着孔雀翎拂尘的家伙也是白费力气，因为即使有只苍蝇绕着主人的脑袋嗡嗡飞来飞去，老爷他也不会察觉。
这时候，过往的行人便常常停下来，不禁对宅邸的豪华，对奴隶的盛装，对总督老爷的舒适享受，发出连声赞叹。可是呢，当他们的目光落在总督身上，看到他那么愁容满面地坐在棕榈树下，两眼只是痴痴地盯着从自己水烟袋里冒出的淡蓝色烟圈儿时，他们立刻又会摇脑袋，说：
“真的啊，这个富翁挺可怜。他是有许多财富，却穷得赛过一无所有的乞丐；因为先知没给他享受自己财富的智慧。”
人们就这么谈论着，一边取笑他，一边继续走自己的路。
一天傍晚，总督又这么被世间所有的豪华富足包围着，坐在自己宅邸的门前。他忧伤而又孤独地抽着他那水烟袋，远远站着的几个年轻人正一边端详他，一边说说笑笑。
“确实啊，”一个小伙子说，“这位阿里·巴努老爷是个傻瓜。我要有他那么多财富，一定花出个样子来给他看。我每天都会过得潇洒、快乐，一定在府中的大厅里不断款待自己的众多好友，让那些沉闷的房间里总是充满笑声和欢呼。”
“是的，”另一个应和道，“这挺不错。不过呢，朋友多了会吃光产业，哪怕它大得跟得到先知祝福的苏丹的产业一样。换上我，傍晚舒舒服服地坐在棕榈树下的宝座上，我一定会让奴隶们为我唱歌奏乐，让舞女们来为我献舞，演出她们种种令人叫绝的节目。我还会气派十足地抽我的水烟袋，吩咐人送贵重的清凉饮料来给我解渴，就像巴格达的国王一般尽情受用这一切的一切。”
“据说总督还是个博学而聪明的人啊，”第三个青年说，他是个作家，“可不，他讲起《可兰经》来头头是道，说明他曾博览群书，包括所有诗人和智者的著作。可是，他的生活安排也像个有头脑的人吗？瞧那里站着个奴隶，两手抱满经卷，只要允许我读读其中的哪怕就这么一卷，我也宁肯舍弃身上这套礼服。须知那肯定都是些罕见的珍本啰！可他怎么着？他坐在那里抽水烟袋，对那些宝卷视而不见。我要是阿里·巴努老爷，那奴隶就准得给我念、念、念，直念到这小子上气不接下气，直念到夜幕降临，可他仍旧得念下去，直念到我酣然入睡。”
“哈！你们听听我的，看看我怎么享受生活，”第四个青年笑道，“吃啊、喝啊、唱啊、跳啊，还有读格言，听那些倒霉的诗人的作品朗诵什么什么的，通通滚蛋！不，我完全是另一种活法。他有成群的骏马和骆驼，大堆的金圆。我要是他，便立马周游世界，甚至去到天涯海角，甚至去到莫斯科，去到弗朗克人居住的地方。只要能看看这花花世界，距离远近于我而言无关紧要。我就这样干，如果我是那里那个人。”
“青年时代的确很美，可以乐乐呵呵，”一位其貌不扬的老者站在旁边听着他们的话，这时接过话茬，“不过请允许我指出，青年人也呆头傻脑，成天夸夸其谈，实际上却不知道自己到底在干些什么。”
“老伯，您的意思是？”年轻人吃惊地问，“您这是讲我们吗？我们在这里议论总督的生活方式，跟您有什么干系？”
“谁要比他人明智一些，就该纠正他人的谬误，先知如此教导。”老者回答，“不错，总督是挺有福气，家财万贯，人们渴望的东西他全不缺；可尽管如此，他那么严肃、忧郁仍有理由。你们以为，他一直是这副模样吗？不，十五年前我就见过他；那时候他活泼、矫健得像只羚羊，生活快乐而又满足。他有过一个儿子，既英俊又有教养，是他生命的喜悦和寄托，谁要见着这小男孩，听听他的谈吐，谁都会羡慕总督养了这么位宝贝儿，因为当时他才十岁，然而博学程度已超过其他十八九岁的大小伙儿。”
“他死了吗？可怜的总督！”年轻的作家失声喊出。
“要是知道儿子回到了先知的住地，在那里过得比在亚历山大城还好，对总督来说倒是个安慰；而他所了解到的情况，却比这要糟得多。事情发生时，正值法兰克人像饿狼一般拥入我国，和咱们打仗。他们占领了亚历山大城，从这里继续推进，与马穆鲁克雇佣军对阵。总督是个聪明人，原本懂得怎么应付这些占领者。可是，也不知是人家觊觎他的金银财宝，还是他真的关照了自己那些同一信仰的兄弟，总之，有一天，占领者闯进他家里，指责他暗中给了马穆鲁克军武器、马匹和给养方面的支援。他千方百计证明自己的冤枉，但毫无用处，法兰克人在敲诈钱财方面可是个粗暴、狠毒的民族。他们把他的幼子凯拉姆带回军营当作人质。他给了他们大笔金钱，可是人家仍旧不放过他，企图把赎金再往上提。这时候，他们接到一位统领或是其他什么上级的命令，要他们马上登船启程；亚历山大城里的人们对此一无所知，他们转眼就到了海上，阿里·巴努的小儿子凯拉姆看样子也被带走了，因为从那以后就再无他的音信。”
“哦，可怜的人，阿拉给他的打击真是沉重！”年轻人异口同声地叹道，同时一齐朝那位被荣华富贵包围着，却忧郁而孤单地坐在棕榈树下的总督望去，目光里充满了同情。
“他的爱妻也死于丧子的苦闷之中。他自己则买了一艘船，将船装备起来，并且说动住在下边喷泉旁的那位法兰克医生，让人家带他去法兰克寻找丢失的儿子。他们驾船在大海上航行了很久很久，终于抵达那些曾经驻扎在亚历山大城的异教徒的国度。谁知那里正发生可怕的事变。他们推翻了自己的苏丹，王公贵族和富人、穷人相互残杀，整个国家一片混乱。阿里和他的助手在城里四处寻找小凯拉姆，可没人知道孩子的下落。临了，法兰克医生劝他还是登船回老家的好，不然，他们自己的脑袋也可能弄掉。
“就这样，他们又回到了亚历山大。从此，总督就生活得跟今天一个样，就老在为失去了儿子而哀痛，可也挺有道理。当他吃喝的时候，他不是一定会想，眼下我可怜的凯拉姆没准儿正在忍受着饥渴吧？
“当他按照职务和地位的要求戴上贵重的头巾，身着华丽的礼服，难道他能不想，这会儿我儿子也许正衣不蔽体吧？当他被自己的奴仆，被那些歌手、舞女和朗诵师围绕着时，难道他能不想，我可怜的孩子眼下没准儿正在他的法兰克主人面前献舞、弹唱，人家叫他做啥就得做啥吧？还有，令阿里最最苦恼的，是他相信小凯拉姆远离故土，生活在异教徒中间，一定会受到奚落歧视，被迫背叛祖宗的信仰，将来就算到了天国的花园里，做父亲的阿里想拥抱一下他也不能够了啊！
“也正因为这个缘故，总督才善待自己的奴隶，给穷人慷慨的施舍，心想阿拉会报答他，感化那些法兰克老爷的心，使他们也善待他的儿子。除此之外，每年在他儿子被抓走的那一天，他都要解放十二个奴隶。”
“这我也听说了，”作家应道，“不过各种说法奇奇怪怪，只是压根儿没提到他那儿子，却讲什么他是个大怪人，爱听讲故事爱得要命，因此年年都在自己的奴隶中举行比赛，谁的故事讲得最棒，他就还给谁自由。”
“别相信那些人胡扯，”老者说，“事实正如我讲的；我知道得一清二楚。他可能只是为了在难挨的日子里有所消遣，才让人给自己讲故事；但解放奴隶纯粹是为他儿子的缘故。不过呢，天已凉了，我得走喽。年轻的先生们，我祝各位平安如意，可在将来请把咱们善良的总督想得好一些！”
青年们感谢老先生提供情况，再瞅了瞅那位忧伤的父亲，也顺着大道走了，边走还边相互表白：“我才不愿变成阿里·巴努总督喽。”
在青年们和那位老者一起谈论阿里·巴努总督之后不久，他们又在差不多该做早祷的时候来到了总督府前的街上。这时候他们想起了老先生和他讲的那段往事，禁不住为总督惋惜起来，同时一起向那座府邸望去。谁料他们多么吃惊啊！他们发现那里一切都装饰得再漂亮不过：屋顶上飘扬着各色各样的旗帜，一群打扮得花枝招展的女奴悠闲地走来走去；大厅的墙壁上挂着精美的挂毯，从挂毯旁垂下来的绸缎一直盖住了台阶宽阔的梯级，甚至大街上也铺着好看而细软的布料，叫人恨不得剪下一段来给自己缝套节日盛装，或者做冬天盖腿的毯子。
“嗬，短短几天总督就完全变了样！”年轻的作家说，“他打算大宴宾客？还是想叫他的歌手和舞女们露一手？瞧瞧这些地毯！整个亚历山大还有谁家的能比这更漂亮？再看地上铺的这些布料，真的，太可惜啦！”
“你们知道我怎么想吗？”另一个青年说，“他呀，准是要迎接一位贵客。要知道，每当一位大国的国君或是国君的大臣幸临下访，主人都会这么大肆进行准备。可今天来的到底是谁呢？”
“快看，下边那个不是咱们上次见过的老头吗？嘿，他无所不知，一定能给咱们揭开谜底。喂喂！老人家！劳驾您过来一下好吗？”
青年们这么喊着，老头儿听见了，走了过来；因为他已认出他们，想起几天前曾和他们谈过话。青年们让他注意看总督府邸的装饰排场，问他知不知道有什么贵客要来。
“你们大概以为，”老者回答，“阿里·巴努今儿个是要大宴宾朋，或者准备迎接什么王公大人来访喽？没有的事儿。不过嘛，今天是拉马丹月的第十二天，你们都知道；就是在这一天，他的儿子被占领者抓到军营去了。”
“可是，先知保佑！”一个青年说，“眼下的一切看上去就跟要举行婚礼，或者有其他盛典似的，这与他那著名的悲哀日子怎么对得起头来呢？就算总督这人本来就有些神经兮兮的。”
“您还是这么快就下结论吗，小伙子？”老先生笑眯眯地问，“这次您的箭同样十分锋利，您的弓弦也拉得很紧，可是射出去却远远偏离了靶心。告诉你，总督今天是在等他的儿子。”
“这么说他已被找到啦？”年轻人欢呼起来。
“不，还差得远哦。可我告诉你们：在八年或者十年前，总督也一样怀着悲哀和怨恨度过这不幸的一天，也曾解放奴隶，周济穷人吃的喝的，不想这时却发现府邸的阴暗处躺着个托钵僧，他精疲力竭，奄奄一息，便叫人也给他送了饮食。这位托钵僧可是位圣者，擅长预言和占星术。他从总督仁慈的手里得到了施舍，吃饱了喝足了，便走上前去对总督道：‘我了解你苦恼的原因；今天是拉马丹月的十二号，你不就是在这一天失去了你的儿子吗？可是别伤心，这悲哀的日子对于你会变成一个节日；要知道正是在这一天，你的儿子会回来的！’
“托钵僧如是说，而身为穆斯林如果怀疑这样一个人讲的话，那简直就是罪过。阿里的苦闷虽然并未因此而减轻，可每到这一天，他便总是期待着儿子归来，并会尽量装饰宅邸、大厅和各处的台阶，仿佛他儿子凯拉姆随时会出现一样。”
“真妙！”作家接过话茬，“不过呢，我倒挺喜欢看屋子里这些辉煌的摆设，看处在这辉煌中间的阿里本人的哭丧样儿，而最最重要的，是听听他的奴隶们给他讲些什么故事。”
“这再容易不过了，”老者回答，“府邸里的奴隶总管是我多年的朋友，每逢这一天他都会在大厅里给我留个座位；那里边挤满了总督的亲朋好友和仆佣，没有谁会注意到多了一两个人。我准备和总管说说，求他放各位进去。你们总共四个，应该不成问题。九点的时候再上这里来，我会给你们个回话。”
老者讲完，青年们向他道过谢后也走了，他们都好奇得要死，巴不得看见整个事情如何进展。
青年们按时回到总督府外的老地方，碰见了老者。老者告诉他们，总管已经答应带他们进去。随后他便带头往前走，但不是经过装饰得漂漂亮亮的台阶和大门，而是溜进一道小小的侧门，进去后就小心翼翼地随手把门关严了。接着他再领着小伙子们穿过一条又一条走道，直至进入大厅。厅中挤挤挨挨四处是人：盛装的大人先生、本城的绅士名流、总督的知交好友，全都来安慰他，分担他的哀痛。此外还有大批不同种族和不同职司的仆人使女，也是一个个哭丧着脸，因为他们都爱戴自己的东家，和他一样感到悲哀。在大厅尽头一张豪华的长沙发上，坐着阿里·巴努最显赫的朋友，一群奴隶正在将他们伺候。在他们旁边的光地板上，坐着总督本人；失子的哀痛不允许他贪图享受。他手撑着脑袋，似乎很少听朋友们冲他低声讲的安慰话。在他正对面，坐着一些个奴隶装束的男子，有少有老。老先生提醒他的年轻朋友，说那些正是阿里准备今天解放的奴隶。他们里边也有几个法兰克人；老先生特别让青年们注意其中一个格外英俊的小青年。仅仅几天之前，总督才花一大笔钱从一个突尼斯奴隶贩子手里把他买来，今天就打算恢复他的自由；因为阿里相信，他放回国去的法兰克人越多，先知也会越早解救他的儿子。
等饮料都已分送到了各处的客人手中，总督才给奴隶总管一个暗示。后者站起身来，于是大厅内一片沉寂。他走到那群将要获得自由的奴隶跟前，以庄严的声调宣布：
“多亏亚历山大城的总督，多亏咱阿里·巴努老爷的仁慈，你们这些人今天即将获得自由，按照咱们府里在这一天的规矩，你们就开始献上你们的故事吧！”
奴隶们先是交头接耳，嘀嘀咕咕。紧接着，一个老奴便开始讲下面的故事。
