'The Cadi thought his servant's offer fair enough, but the young Jew went mad. Flying at the throat of the major-domo, he flung him to the ground, and tried to tear the soul out of his body with his teeth and nails. The Cadi called upon the bystanders for help. The Jew was dragged with difficulty from his victim. Then the Cadi asked: '"Why, pray, did you attack my servant in that savage way?" '"That man," said the Jew, still white with rage, and pointing with his tallow finger at the major-domo, who had risen from the ground--"that man contains my grandfather." '"What words are these? Explain yourself!" the Cadi cried. '"Three weeks ago, O gracious Excellency, my grandfather died in Stambul. It had ever been his dearest wish to be buried in the Holy City, near the scene of judgment; and that wish of his was law on us his offspring. But how could we fulfil it? How, I ask? No skipper, whether Nazarene or Muslim, would receive a dead Jew on his ship for less than the corpse-weight in gold. And we are poor. To take him overland was quite impossible. And so my father and my mother in Stambul cured his dead limbs, and made of them bastirma, and sent him hither in the way thou knowest. It follows that thy servant has committed a most dreadful crime. Let him be killed, I pray, and buried in the tomb we have prepared, that so my grandfather's great wish may be fulfilled." 'The major-domo was more dead than living as he heard that story. He rent his clothes and fell down on the ground insensible. 'The Cadi answered the young Jew with wisdom, saying: "Thou art entitled to the price of one basket of bastirma, and no more, from this my servant; but he, on his side, has a right to all thou ownest. What wealth can ever compensate him for the haunting fear that on the Last Day he may rise inextricably mingled with thy worthy grandfather? Go, I say, and never venture to approach him any more, or I shall surely act upon this judgment and denude thee quite." The major-domo--' Cries of 'Miskin! Miskin!' (poor fellow!) interrupted the narrative. One said: 'I once ate pig's flesh by mistake, but this man's plight is much more horrible.' Suleyman's opponent cried: 'It was a judgment on him, evidently, for his theft of the bastirma. Say, what became of him thereafter, O narrator?' 'The major-domo, who, till then, had been a precious rogue--I knew him intimately from a child, and so can vouch for it--became from that day forth the saintliest of men. He thought about his crime and mourned for it, and deemed himself an unclean beast until he died--may God have mercy on him--and was buried in the Holy City as the Jew desired. He thought of nothing but good deeds, yet without seeking merit, knowing that nothing he could do would ever cleanse him. He became the humblest and the best of men, who had before been arrogant and very wicked. Therefore I say that it is well for men to think of their sins after rather than before committing them.'