But it was not enough to amuse my spectators; I must also, in order to fulfil the object of my mission, startle and even terrify them by the display of a supernatural power. My arrangements had all been made for this purpose, and I had reserved for the end of my performances three tricks, which must complete my reputation as a sorcerer. Many of my readers will remember having seen at my performances a small but solidly-built box, which, being handed to the spectators, becomes heavy or light at my order; a child might raise it with ease, and yet the most powerful man could not move it from its place. I advanced with my box in my hand, to the centre of the “practicable,” communicating from the stage to the pit; then, addressing the Arabs, I said to them: “From what you have witnessed, you will attribute a supernatural power to me, and you are right. I will give you a new proof of my marvellous authority, by showing that I can deprive the most powerful man of his strength and restore it at my will. Any one who thinks himself strong enough to try the experiment may draw near me.” (I spoke slowly, in order to give the interpreter time to translate my words.) An Arab of middle height, but well built and muscular, like many of the Arabs are, came to my side with sufficient assurance. “Are you very strong?” I said to him, measuring him from head to foot. “Oh yes!” he replied carelessly. “Are you sure you will always remain so?” “Quite sure.” “You are mistaken, for in an instant I will rob you of your strength, and you shall become as a little child.” The Arab smiled disdainfully as a sign of his incredulity. “Stay,” I continued; “lift up this box.” The Arab stooped, lifted up the box, and said to me, coldly, “Is that all?” “Wait----!” I replied. Then, with all possible gravity, I made an imposing gesture, and solemnly pronounced the words: “Behold! you are weaker than a woman; now, try to lift the box.” The Hercules, quite cool as to my conjuration, seized the box once again by the handle, and gave it a violent tug, but this time the box resisted, and, spite of his most vigorous attacks, would not budge an inch. The Arab vainly expended on this unlucky box a strength which would have raised an enormous weight, until, at length, exhausted, panting, and red with anger, he stopped, became thoughtful, and began to comprehend the influences of magic. He was on the point of withdrawing; but that would be allowing his weakness, and that he, hitherto respected for his vigor, had become as a little child. This thought rendered him almost mad. Deriving fresh strength from the encouragements his friends offered him by word and deed, he turned a glance round them, which seemed to say: “You will see what a son of the desert can do.” He bent once again over the box: his nervous hands twined round the handle, and his legs, placed on either side like two bronze columns, served as a support for the final effort.